Dual Trigger: Aria di Mezzo Carattere
by Chronic Guardian
Summary: Synthesis is the heart of cybernetics. Two parts brought together for one purpose. Although it is imperfect in form and uncertain in future, its intent was pure. Even when born from desperate circumstance, it is a hope that someday things may once again be whole.
1. Coesistenza

**Dual Trigger**

-By Chronic Guardian-

**Chapter 1: Coesistenza**

_Machines do not feel, think, or otherwise take initiative unless specifically programmed to do so. Some say that human beings are not so different from that. The call of our heart, the process of our mind, can it all truly be boiled down to a preset conditioning? So long as the variables can be foreseen, so may the actions of the individual. The easiest way to simplify a formula is to isolate variables by transferring some variables into controls. If we could change variables of the human disposition into controls, the most effective of agents could conceivably be bred. The answer to this riddle seems to lie within the merging of many technologies, chiefly cybernetics and magitek. Time willing, I shall see my dreams fulfilled._

_-Research Journal of Cid Marquis Del Norte, 1994_

}§{

"So what do you think?" Jean Croce asked quietly, patiently waiting as the man's eyes flicked between the girl in the hospital bed and the file.

"She's got it rough," he grunted, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not so sure bringing her into this sort of life is gonna make it any better."

"Comfort is not a concern as much as functionality; do you think you'll be able to work with her?"

"…She's got spunk at least. Living through that?"

"A trait you share in common, I hear you haven't had it so easy yourself."

The man smiled wearily, "You can say that again, mister. Guess that's what brought me into this mess in the first place."

Jean nodded, "Right. They tell me you're looking for your son."

"Darn kid can't take care of himself on his own out there."

"Unless you put that aside for the moment, we cannot offer you a position as a fratello."

"And unless I've got that I've got no way of searching for my boy, is that it?" The man fixed his crimson eyes on Jean's, "you sure know how to hit a guy while he's down, huh?"

"So we can count on your cooperation?"

"Got no better way. As soon as he's safe though, I can't guarantee I'll be all you want me to be."

"That's quite all right, your devoted services for now will be sufficient."

"… Okay, you got yourself a deal, mister."

"Good. Shall we then?"

The man took one last look over his shoulder at the girl sleeping in fluorescent light. She looked so familiar…

"Oh, and your first task as a fratello: you've got to give her a name."

A name… he had never been good at this sort of thing. "Breska?"

"Sounds as good as any to me. Welcome to the team, Jecht."

Jecht nodded slowly, "Thanks, can't wait to get started."

}§{

"There have been a lot of new arrivals lately," Rico commented, staring out the window as she cleaned the barrel of her CZ-75 pistol. "Don't you think so, Henrietta?"

"I guess so. Have you talked to any of them?"

"The one who's a little younger than Triela. She's got a nice handler."

"Did Jean tell you that?"

"No, Jean told me he was a lost cause."

Henrietta looked up from her star chart, "Is he?"

"I don't know. He seems to really know what he's doing when it comes to guns."

"I guess that's all that matters."

"Yeah, I guess so."

}§{

Not too far away, the very same man was observing a training exercise.

"It's looking pretty cloudy," he murmured. Given his companion's stoic silence the comment might as well have been to himself. "You suppose we should pack up for the day?"

The other man stared on, observing the efforts of the girl, the cyborg, practicing at the range with unflinching attention. "Terra has an adequate immune system, and rain may be one of the conditions we must operate in," he said, his thick black mustache bobbing with his words.

"Harsh. But I can't really tell you how to train when you've been here so long. What did you say your name was?"

His eyes remained on the girl. "Cyan, Cyan Garamonde."

"Great, and I'm Laguna Loire. Me and Quistis are sort of new around here. But I hear you joined around the time of the Croce brothers."

Cyan ignored the handshake offered and continued monitoring his charge. "Yes, that is correct. You, Quistis, and the Vincent-Aria and Jecht-Breska fratellos are all recent inductions due to the increased threats present."

"I'm not from around these parts, care to clue me in?"

"In addition to the Republican Faction terrorists, we also face a group named the Omega Faction. In order to keep both these threats in check, the agency has enlisted your help." Cyan spared a glance in Laguna's direction, "they tell me you took down a group that was about to be intercepted by the first division. What drove you to this life, Mr. Loire?"

"They took someone important to me, I can't lose her to them."

"A rather short term goal for joining the Agency, don't you think?"

"Jean said my short term loyalty should be enough."

"You _are_ aware of the Agency's retirement plans, right?"

Laguna shook his head. In the past, particularly the recent past, he hadn't taken the time to let the future catch up to him. Planning, as it seemed, generally just wasn't his thing; much less the specific category of planning for retirement.

"The most common one is referred to by some as 'the pine-wood hotel' or 'six-feet under'," Cyan continued. "If they can trust you to keep your mouth shut they might be a tad more generous."

"Is that why you've hung around so long?"

"I've got a job to do, Mr. Loire. Besides, a cyborg without a handler is an awfully lonesome existence."

"Quistis is a bright girl, I think she'll be alright."

"Do not be so certain, Mr. Loire, the conditioning process is an odd thing."

"Why do you do that?" Laguna asked, moving a little to the side to try to get a little more of a full on view of Cyan's Face.

"Give you warnings? I'm trying to prevent mistakes."

"No, call me by my last name. All the handlers I've run into are on a first name basis."

"Just like our girls, I think you'll find that no two handlers operate exactly the same."

"True enough, but that's not really an explanation."

Cyan sighed. "You will have to retain your curiosity, Mr. Loire. Perhaps you shall come to the answer on your own with time."

"If you say so," Laguna shrugged, "at any rate, I've got to go do some training with Quistis. Can't just leave her to hang out with the other girls all day long. That wouldn't sit very well with the higher ups, huh?"

"No, I suppose it would not."

Laguna could not tell if the man was smiling to himself but it still had seemed a productive conversation. Life at the Social Welfare Agency was not quite what he had expected it to be, but he had served in the army in his youth and was somewhat used to operating in a military setting. Operating in a military setting with young girls was completely beyond his experience though.

It was not that he disliked children, far from it actually, but treating them as equally capable adults felt wrong on a number of levels. If only in theory, it was his station to protect them, not the other way around.

Heaving a sigh, he looked towards the darkening clouds. _What would Raine think of me now?_

}§{

The room was mostly empty, but if that was what it took to please Elsa, then she did not mind too much. In the time that she had known the girl, Terra had come to assume that one of the best strategies for dealing with her roommate was to allow things to be done personally.

Elsa de Sica had her eyes on one goal: being praised by her handler. Everything else, all other needs, became secondary when faced with this one ambition. Every one of the girls felt similar when it came to their handlers, but no one had quite the rotten luck of being stuck with a handler like Lauro.

In most cases, conditioning prevented cyborgs from resenting any handlers, not just their own. In Terra's unique mind, Lauro was an exception. They had said that it was a malfunction due to the magitek engineering rejecting certain parts of the conditioning; whatever the reason, Terra hated and pitied Lauro. He was distant from love, and to many of the cyborgs love was the only human part of them left.

"Move, Terra." Elsa's worn monotone caught her off guard.

Stepping out of the doorway, Terra stowed her gear and turned around to face her roommate. "Sorry, Elsa, I didn't think you would be back so soon."

"We finished early."

"That's great! You must have performed well then."

"…"

Terra's smile faltered. Talking to others did not come naturally to Elsa; there had been an uncomfortable month and a half during which conversation had been nearly nonexistent within their room when Elsa had first moved in. Little by little though, Elsa had begun to tolerate Terra and offer her more than two words on occasion. This had lead Terra to understand Elsa's silence just as much as her words.

Lauro had not praised her.

"Do you… want to head down to the cafeteria for some dinner?"

Elsa blinked slowly. "You're right. Malnourishment won't contribute very well to tomorrow's training."

Terra waited as Elsa placed her case underneath the bed and joined her on the way out.

"What does Lauro want?" Terra murmured.

"I don't know," Elsa replied wearily.

Terra had to sympathize with the statement; to her it seemed that the man had little interest in his work, including the girl who served him without question or complaint. As far as she could see, there was no way for Elsa to please the man. If she told this to the girl though, it would probably mean the end of their fragile working relationship. Elsa had little enough room for criticism.

"Maybe Cyan can ask him for you," she offered helpfully. "I think that might work."

Elsa shook her head, "No… the only skill I have is with a gun. If I can't do it with that, I don't think there is a way."

"… Elsa, please don't give up."

"Okay, Terra."

Terra almost choked on the sincerity she was so unaccustomed to hearing out of her roommate. Regaining her composure, she smiled hopefully and continued to the dining hall.

The silence that persisted through dinner no longer bothered her.

}§{

**~Author's Note:~**

Coesistenza: Italian for Coexistence.

Front Cover illustration characters from left to right: Vincent Valentine, Aria, and Professor Gast Faremis.

Concerning this story: think of it like Dissidia in the Gunslinger Girl universe. I don't mean we'll be running into Chaos or Cosmos or crystals or any of that, I mean that various Final Fantasy characters will be adapted and inserted into the story. Example: Cid Marquis del Norte of Final Fantasy VI. As of now there are absolutely NO OCs planned due to the rather expansive pool of Final Fantasy Characters to draw from.

There won't be magic, magitek refers to something else in this case. Because this is the Gunslinger Girl universe the fantasy elements will be greatly restrained (although I cannot promise as much for the philosophical ones).

Elsa admittedly would not be talking to others as we saw her in the anime but because she has had to live in the same room with Terra for a while her walls have softened a little. For more background, check out the upcoming Condizionata Complementare, which contains the story of Terra's induction into the Agency and, subsequently, how she and Elsa first met.

Research Notes:  
**CZ-75**: A Czechoslovakian pistol that has spawned many "clones". It is valued for its durability and versatility. Although it is commonly used for sport shooting, it also is acknowledged as a rather effective combat model. The CZ-75 is Rico's side arm of choice.


	2. Proibito

**Dual Trigger**

-By Chronic Guardian-

**Chapter 2: Proibito**

_The conditioning process is not supernatural. As of now, there are still a number of unintended consequences due to our level of understanding regarding the human brain. Certain connections are overridden, others are more fully pronounced, and the end result is (theoretically) a girl with absolute loyalty to her handler. Due to certain brain pattern prevalence, the process is far more effective with female patients at a young age._

_Introducing magitek into the equation complicates things though. Because magitek has a psychological as well as physiological effect on the body, it "shields" certain portions of the brain from conditioning. Unfortunately, because some of these portions pertain to the initiative capabilities of the patient, the use of magitek has been largely relegated. The second run of subjects, most of the cyborgs from Section 2, show minimal deficiency save for one who was highly responsive to the magitek treatment: Terra. This is likely due to the fact that she was infused with magitek prior to conditioning while the others received it afterwards. My assistant, Doctor Faremis, is looking into alternative theories on our future use of the technology. If he cannot discover anything of use, I fear I will soon be dismissed from the agency._

_-Research Journal of Cid Marquis Del Norte, 2001  
_

}§{

"Today's target is a mob boss who's impeding our efforts to keep order in the area," Jose informed his companions. "Due to the right wing sentiment in Apulia, it is possible that the FRF may become involved. Our target has a meeting at one of his weapons storehouses. After that, he is headed to an apartment in Barivecchia. Vincent, you and I will secure the storehouse after his departure. Cyan, Amadeo and Giordio will seal off the route where you will be waiting to intercept the target; Jean wants him alive. Will Terra be able to handle that?"

Cyan nodded stiffly, "indubitably, Mr. Croce. And his protection?"

"Take them out, we can't afford that many live variables. Vincent, are you certain Aria is ready for this mission?"

"She'll be just fine," Vincent assured him.

"Good. Let's head out, gentlemen."

The three men exited the room with their cyborgs and went their separate ways. Cyan and Terra headed out on foot while Vincent, Aria, Henrietta, and Jose boarded their vehicles.

"Cyan?" Terra asked, keeping pace with her handler while carrying the ½ cello case that housed the Dragunov SVU-A rifle she would be employing. "The FRF is a northern movement, right?"

"That is correct, Terra."

"Why would we have to worry about them in Apulia?"

"You mean because it's more southerly? In our particular case it relates to taxation. If the north secedes from the nation then taxes will rise everywhere else to pick up the slack and raise the demand for black market alternatives that avoid the taxation. This will significantly raise revenue for organized crime and thus it is seen as a profitable move to support the northern secession."

"Ah. Thank you, Cyan."

"You're welcome, Terra."

"May I ask one more question?"

"We've still a whiles to walk."

"What does Lauro want?"

"In general? A raise."

"Well… what does he want out of Elsa?"

"Probably as little contact as possible. That man fancies himself an analytic of character but has failed to discern that it exists in cyborgs as well as normal humans. Considering his arrogance, I would be surprised if he sees much in others when there is so little in him."

This was almost as bad as a death knell. If Lauro wanted nothing to do with Elsa then there was not much Terra could do to help. Of course, she would not be in much of a position to help anyway, considering that Elsa's substantial pride prohibited almost all external involvement. Still, how could Lauro not perceive worth in the girl?

"Do you see anything in me?"

Cyan gave her a glance out of the corner of his eye while his mustache curled upwards, "my girl, I see more in you than I have seen in the vast majority of my coworkers."

She felt her cheeks warming; it was a good thing Cyan was in the habit of walking with his eyes forward. "… You don't think it's strange that I'm asking?"

"Should I? I am certain you have your reasons."

"Thank you, Cyan."

"Of course, Terra. Now then, concerning our mission, you will take a streetside position and snipe the vehicle's left forward tire as it approaches. If this is not possible, eliminate the driver first. As the attention is drawn to you, I will enter from the opposite flank and eliminate the target's support. Do not kill the target; we've been supplied with a photograph so you can distinguish him from the others. Commit his likeness to your short term memory."

"Yes sir." She accepted the picture and studied the stern face of the man they would capture.

"Good. Now remember: although we cannot fatally wound the target we may need to cripple him. Either the shoulder or the leg should be sufficient. If he starts running then hit him in one of those, understood?"

"Yes sir."

Cyan reached over and patted her shoulder. "You can make this shot. I know what you are capable of. Just calm yourself and concentrate."

Terra nodded, her light blonde curly bangs bouncing with the motion. "Yes sir."

As they arrived at the interception point Cyan slowed to a stop and adjusted his earpiece. "Yes… understood, Jose. We'll be ready. Good luck with the storehouse." He released his connection and shifted his gaze to Terra. "The target is on his way, Amadeo says he'll be the only car on the street. Prepare the rifle, I must get into position."

"Yes sir." Terra unslung her cello case and retrieved the SVU-A that waited inside. Making all the necessary checks, she set up the bipod and prepared to fire at the car when it came in sight.

She did not have to wait long, a black IFA F9 soon appeared on the street. Lining up her sights, she checked the cabin, noting the face of their target in the middle of the back row. She then focused on the front left wheel, waited for the target to get a little closer, and fired.

The rubber exploded and the car began to grind to a halt. Retraining the barrel on the front right wheel, Terra released another round at the rapidly approaching car before lifting her rifle off the ground and rolling to cover behind the alley wall. One of the tenants Cyan had stressed in her training was preventative maintenance; only remaining in the open when necessary and taking cover whenever possible. She was not about to see how long it took the mobsters to identify her miniature form as the source of their latest problem.

Fortunately, that description was soon applied to Cyan instead. Coming out of the opposite alleyway, the man fired off three rounds from his Beretta 93R machine pistol and ducked back as the enemy offered a tart reply.

Terra dashed around the corner before peppering the front seats of the car at a diagonal to horizontal angle, avoiding any misfire into the back center where the mob boss had been when she had checked earlier. A retort from the back seat caused her to perform an evasive front roll, leaving her in a low crouch as she arrived at the vehicle's side.

Another three rounds from Cyan and a gasp from inside the cabin cued her next assault. Using the butt end of her rifle, she smashed in the back passenger window on her side before dropping the rifle and performing a spin kick to the man inside's face in the same motion, knocking him unconscious. Using her hand to stabilize a crouched landing, she launched herself into the car once more; tackling the panicking mob boss as he tried to make his escape in the opposite direction.

"Good work, Terra; any other survivors?" Cyan asked, coming to her side as she more coherently restrained their target.

"One." She nodded towards the man she had knocked unconscious.

Cyan walked to the car and fired at point blank range.

It was a custom, or so Terra interpreted it, that if anyone was to be interrogated or killed, he would do it. Whether the man found pleasure in this, or simply saw it as _his _specific duty was beyond her.

Just as Cyan trusted her to have her reasons, she trusted him to have his.

"Are you finished applying the handcuffs?"

"Yes sir."

"Excellent. Amadeo will be waiting for us, go retrieve your rifle and case; I shall deal with our target."

"Yes sir."

Despite her equal if not superior cyborg strength, Cyan always insisted on performing carrying tasks himself. It puzzled her, even though he had explained it to her as a gesture of affection. It was not that he thought her incapable, but that we wished to relieve her of whatever burdens he could. _I owe you that much for this life, in the very least._

It was still confusing.

}§{

Waiting for the Sacra Corona Unita boss to finish up his review was a slight annoyance. Vincent Valentine was not foreign to the idea of tact, but he also preferred to accomplish tasks with a minimum amount of time elapsed. It seemed that nothing much had changed since his transfer from Section One to Section Two, with the exception of the young girl clutching a shotgun.

"There he goes," Jose commented as the mob boss got in his black IFA F9 and drove off, breaking radio silence. "Cyan, Amadeo?"

"Yes," the former bodyguard's deep and somewhat distorted voice answered promptly.

"The target is on his way. Proceed with capture."

"I'll give you a nice clean scene," Amadeo chimed in. "I'm in position to seal the route once he drives in."

"Understood, Jose. We'll be ready. Good luck with the storehouse."

Vincent adjusted his earpiece and subtly cleared his throat. "Time to go?"

"See you on the other side."

Closing the link, Vincent drew his pistol, an American Bren Ten Marksman Special fitted with a suppressor, and ducked around the corner.

There were three men at the back of the warehouse, all of them armed. Vincent had trained tirelessly to improve his accuracy when he was applying for NOCS; a headshot at this range took him less than half a second to calculate. Three shots and each man fell.

Aria emerged behind him a moment too late, bringing her Franchi SPAS-12 shotgun to bear on the fallen bodies.

"Stay behind me," Vincent ordered, walking towards the back door. "I can't have you dying on our first mission."

"Yes, sir." Aria dutifully replied. As far as he was informed, the conditioning made her as good as her word.

Vincent knew that fratello usually left the majority of the shooting up to their cyborgs. Due to a number of factors, he had declined this course of action. Number one on the list was that the Franchi SPAS-12 he had chosen for Aria was not suppressed and would be best employed once inside where they would be ready to forfeit the element of surprise. Every piece was to be played for maximum efficiency.

Signaling to Aria to ready her gun, Vincent forcefully opened the back door and scanned for threats. Three, no, four people unloading from a truck on the ground floor; two nearby moving an especially large crate, footsteps on the stairway to the immediate left meant at least one more in the area. Also in the direction was a rack that could act as a ladder in a pinch. As described in the floor plan, the stairs led to a loft covering half of the second story, a little less than half of that would be an enclosed office if the accuracy of the document held. Filing all this away, Vincent granted himself the first shot and took down one of the crate haulers before stepping aside so that Aria could drop the other.

The boom of the SPAS and clatter of the crate hitting the floor acted as the perfect signal to draw attention to the back of the warehouse and away from the front where Jose would be entering with Henrietta.

It also gave away the intrusion to anyone who was listening on the upper floor.

The sound of a gun cocking to fire from that direction pulled his thoughts into focus. Time slowed as Vincent looked up at the man on the stairs who was bringing a pistol to bear on him. Before he could react though, fully automatic fire swept the stairway, announcing Henrietta's entrance to the scene.

Climbing up the rack with a two-step vault, he proceeded to spring onto the now clear steps and burst into the upstairs office. The room contained two bookshelves, a sofa, a collection of filing cabinets, another door to the rest of the loft, and a man at a desk clutching a cellphone and a handgun.

"It might be the poli—" Vincent ended the conversation of the man behind the desk with two shots before his presence could be registered. Proceeding through the far door, he found three racks of crates and two more gunmen, both raining their efforts down towards Jose. Two more shots and their fire ceased.

The warehouse became silent.

Slowly approaching the crate racks, Vincent made certain there was no one else on the upper floor before starting on his way back down. He paused in the office, looking at the man he had used two shots on. He always used no more ammunition than he deemed necessary; unfortunately for this man, Vincent viewed it as necessary that communications concerning the mission be silenced beyond doubt. On the very off chance that the first bullet did not kill, the second would.

"Vincent?"

Aria entered, cradling her shotgun.

"We're done up here," he assured her, leaving his musings behind. "Were you hit?"

"No sir, I just… the others-"

"Let's go."

Heading down the stairs, they encountered Jose and Henrietta on the ground floor examining one of the crates.

"Satisfied?" Jose asked, not bothering to look up from his work.

"Hmm?"

"You went in alone. Most fratello are—"

"A team?" Vincent half guessed.

"…Is everyone from Section One like this?"

"Whatever path is the most convenient."

"So it was inconvenient to rely on her?"

"…I guess so." It was not much of an answer, but Vincent didn't feel like wasting time arguing. From what he knew of Jose, the feeling would be mutual.

"Just… be careful. I don't think Jean will take this so well."

Vincent grunted, "Thanks. Is there anything else then?"

"No, I think we're done here."

"We're not searching the files?"

"Ferro's team will handle that. Once we turn this in, we're clear for the day."

"Oh? And just what is 'this'?"

"A crate full of cybernetic parts. It would appear that someone else is preparing to create cyborgs."

}§{

**~Author's Note:~**

Proibibito: Italian for "Prohibited".

Although I do not have my finger on the pulse of Italian politics, hopefully my fabrications were not over thin in this area.  
This Probably should have appeared in the first author's note but the timeline for the story is set as if the events in Gunslinger Girl occur at the launch of the anime; that is, in 2004. I project that the cyborg program has been going on a while and, as far as I know, there is no definite evidence to the contrary. If not, then various dates will have to be adjusted. The events of this work pick up around late 2004 and will run probably until the eradication of the Omega Faction and/or the conclusions of the four Final Fantasy handler's stories.

-CG

Research Notes:

Franchi SPAS-12: An Italian made shotgun whose production ran from 1978-2000. It has two firing modes, semi-automatic and pump action, and was favored by law enforcement agencies. Due to gun bans in the U.S. the rifle saw limited sales in the region but still did rather well in the rest of the world. Although a suppressor may be available for this particular model of rifle, this is Aria's first mission and Vincent is skeptical of her skills; thus he chose not to include the additional weight of the suppressor unto the SPAS-12's already considerable weight in order to keep things as easy to manage as possible. The rifle is succeeded by the Franchi SPAS-15.

IFA F9: A saloon model produced in East Germany by Automobilwerk Zwickau from 1949-1956 and cousin to the Auto Union DWK F89. This car is differentiated from its western cousin by its lighter weight, owing to the use of plastic panels due to the cost of steel in Eastern Europe at the time.

Apulia/Bari: Apulia is one of the more easterly provinces of Italy, located on the coast facing the Adriatic sea and forming the "heel" of the Italian "boot". Bari is the capital of the area. Being a well known port city, imported materials are likely to pass through its keeping.

Bren Ten Marksman Special: The Bren Ten was an American made pistol, it is chambered for the elusive 10mm round as opposed to the more common 9x19mm Parabellum. It bears a striking resemblance to the CZ-75 but is larger and more powerful. The Marksman special variant of the handgun is chambered for .45 ACP rounds.  
The run of this firearm was severely limited due to manufacturers going bankrupt or otherwise becoming unable to produce it. It had notoriously dubious quality control, but Vincent escaped this factor due to an excellent gunsmith he knows who remedied the flawed pieces.


	3. Ancora Punto

**Dual Trigger**

-By Chronic Guardian-

**Chapter 3: Ancora Punto**

_In essence, magitek engineering consolidates certain sectors of the individual while making the rest more receptive of foreign matter. It was originally produced while searching for a way to prevent patients' bodies from rejecting organs. The original run, however, was riddled with unintended side effects. Although magitek does make for a more malleable being, it also activates a response in certain sectors of the brain that then "solidify", becoming anchor points for the individual amidst their change. In the first generation, the anchor points seemed random and sometimes hazardous._

_For the purposes of the SWA, magitek seemed a perfect tool for enhancing the cyborgs. After all, if their bodies and minds could be further integrated the benefits would be numerous; including but not limited to a longer projected lifespan, increased physical functionality, increased learning capacity, and less dependence on conditioning drugs. The only factor that hindered the absolute success of magitek's introduction into the Agency is the anchor points. The SWA's current conditioning methods tend to induce a full memory wipe, with the exception of a cyborg named Rico. If something from the past, a sibling, a parent, a failure, a love, became an anchor point it could lead to various problems. However, we have attained a 96% success rate in isolating the anchor points to desired areas. If this proves satisfactory, we may well keep our position in the Agency._

_-Research Journal of Cid Marquis del Norte, 2003_

}§{

"You left her behind?"

"Begging your pardon, Signore Jean, but don't we have bigger problems on our hands?"

"We can't deal with the bigger problems if you can't perform satisfactorily on the small ones. Learning to work _with _your cyborg is a priority. You aren't the lone ranger from Section One anymore, you're working as a fratello."

Vincent grunted. "Playing babysitter for her, once again."

"Would you rather she stayed in that hospital bed? Given her prior magitek infusion she might have stood a slim chance just waiting for an organ donor."

"And spent the rest of her life with stumps at the elbows? I don't think that's quite what Dr. Faremis would want. Besides, the psychological trauma of the incident was severe. Even if she recovered physically, her mind needed to be reset."

"If that's how you feel then I suggest you step up your performance," Jean informed him. "You need to have as much faith in your cyborg as you do in your own gun. If you don't use her, she's about as good to us as a four-foot-three paper weight."

"Mmm, how compassionate."

"They're valuable tools for our trade, Vincent. You might as well make the best of it."

Vincent gave a slight grimace. "It's strange, talking about a deceased colleague's daughter that way."

"That girl died the night her father did. If you want to avenge them you should salvage what's left."

"Poetic justice, huh?" Vincent had to admit, Jean's relentless pressure was admirable. The man had not become the head of the handlers merely because he was passionate; it was also because he was resourceful, resilient, and unshakably professional. "I guess I can work with that."

"You can work on your sarcasm while you're at it. I expect straight answers next time."

"Yes, Signore Jean."

Jean gave him a flat look. "We let you in on that joint operation because you told us you were ready. You and Aria have only been with us for two months. Is her performance really so bad that it's easier to do it yourself? Or is it just the Section One member in you wanting to show us that they're inferior?"

Section One. Yes, he had joined Section One five years ago. By that time, the cyborg program had already been in place and all he ever heard out of the director was how Section Two sucked up funds and only took on special assignments. Back then, Doctor Faremis was still Doctor Marquis' assistant and the whole magitek thing had not yet been phased out.

Back then, Vincent had been called _Zio_ by the girl he now trained in the art of death.

"…She operates just fine. I was told to take care of her and that's exactly what I intend to do."

"If that's how you plan to deal with it then why did you have her turned into a cyborg?"

"Because I have to keep her close, and this seemed the ideal way."

Jean sighed, letting his piercing gaze off of Vincent for a moment. "Vincent, do you know the biggest reason I doubt you're abilities as a fratello?"

"Enlighten me, Signore."

"You've forgotten the pain of separation. Every other chosen handler knows the pain of loss. We are the broken; Us, and the cyborgs we utilize. Marco Toni, who lost his career, his dream, and his girl; Victor Hilshire, a Europol agent forced to realize harsh reality through the failure of his personal crusade; Jose and I, who lost our entire family to those Padania scum; Cyan Garamonde, a Japanese body guard who failed to protect his charge and his loved ones, et cetera.

"You, on the other hand, are a happily married man with a healthy seven year old child. You still rely heavily on things outside of the Agency. We were all pushed to the limit where we would use whatever it took to complete our goal; you haven't reached that limit yet. Do you understand now?"

"I'm not giving up my family."

"I don't expect you to. I expect you to make them your drive, the thing that keeps you going until you and Aria are the last ones standing. Make their safety what you fight for, what you are willing to sacrifice everything else for. Strive for their life, before you have to strive for their memory."

"… Yes, Signore Jean."

"Good, dismissed."

}§{

Burst shot. Holes riddled the target. Just as the last of the thirty 5.56x45mm rounds left the chamber she ejected the cartridge and replaced it. She repeated the process, focusing as she methodically moved up the slope until the silhouettes bent over in submission.

"Adequate," Marco acknowledged, surveying her handiwork through a pair of binoculars. "Next time conserve your ammunition a little more. Alright, Angie?"

"Yes, sir." The order was taken to heart immediately. If it was the order of Signore Marco, she would gladly follow it.

"Hold on. What's changed since we began this session?"

"Wind has changed by 2 degrees west, sir."

"And?"

"I've emptied five magazines?"

"That's one-hundred-and-fifty bullets. What disadvantage might be present if we were in the middle of a mission and you now had to move?"

"I'd have to watch my step?"

"Are you asking or telling?"

"Telling, sir."

"Good. You're getting better."

She beamed with gratitude. Her skills had been under much scrutiny lately and it was nice to have her efforts pay off. They said that it could have been worse, that if she had not received the magitek treatment from Doctor Marquis she would likely be confined to the infirmary by now. She did not understand much about what could have been, but she was glad that she was training with Signore Marco rather than sitting alone in a hospital bed.

"Thank you, sir."

Come to think of it, she could just barely recall who Doctor Marquis was. He had worked for the Agency, and had something to do with magitek, but that was about it. The only other thing she remembered on the subject was that she did not want to get infused with magitek again.

She could not remember what the process did, only its painful after effects.

"Angelica."

"Yes, sir?"

"Quistis and Breska will be done with the maze soon. We should head over so we can get in on the next round."

"Right away, sir!"

She could not say whether Quistis and Breska were the names of handlers or cyborgs; but she was spending the day with Signore Marco, so it really did not matter much one way or the other.

That was the one other thing they had told her at the last examination; due to the magitek treatment she had developed an "anchor point" that was not uncommon for cyborgs: her handler. It was sometimes difficult to remember what they had done together or what he had told her to work on, but it was nearly impossible to forget who he was. For this, Angelica was glad. Even if the rest of her world faded, he would remain.

Signore Marco glanced over his shoulder back at her. She smiled as widely as she could to assure him that she was ready for anything. So long as he trusted her, that was truly how she would feel.

}§{

The girls exited the facility with their handlers, ready for the midday break that awaited them.

"A job well done; huh, Jecht?" Laguna grinned at his fellow handler. "I think both of 'em are really coming along."

"They're getting' there," Jecht grunted. "They've still got a long ways to go before they get into the big leagues though. What we're gonna be doin' out there ain't some exercise with rubber bullets, it's the real deal."

"Come on! It's not like they did terrible."

"Fact is, unless your opponent is also doin' terrible you're still gonna have to push the bounds of their potential. If it's at all possible, I don't settle for even odds."

"…Wanna tell me about that on the tram ride back?"

"Nah, me and Breska are gonna run back. After all that sittin' around at the range it'll be nice to get the blood going again."

The jovial expression on Laguna's face faltered just a moment. "Well… Alright. See you at lunch then?"

"You bet." Jecht gave him a fierce smile. "Now, I'm gonna have to get going if I plan on beating you there. See ya!"

Throwing a parting wave over his shoulder, Jecht took off down the road. It did not take long before Breska caught up to his side. Giving the pace a slight push, he watched as his cyborg adjusted. Making use of his longer legs, he switched to a longer, bounding stride. Breska matched his step unwaveringly, compensating for her height with more powerful leaps.

The kid was good. Or rather, the cybernetic implants that inhabited roughly eighty percent of her body were. He had heard about the inherent power of the technology but that did not stop him from wanting to test it out against himself. Sure, she was about his weight in synthetic muscle, but that was not the only component to a good soldier. He had made certain she would only be conditioned when absolutely necessary so that everything else was good old fashioned, hard earned discipline.

Hopefully that discipline would be enough to help her learn how to shoot properly.

Breska was not hopeless, but she was not a natural shot either. It did help that she had retained large amounts of fine motor coordination from her previous life; however, Jecht would be satisfied with nothing less than the best.

He would need nothing less than the best on the day he took his son back from the Omega Faction. Those who claimed to be the end of all things, who sought a great purging of the inadequacies of the world, it was they who gathered into the Omega Faction. Unlike the Five Republics Faction, which was formed on political ideals and could interface with the public at large, the Omega Faction kept its operations and existence out of sight and only chose targets already sought by other organizations to hide their motives.

In fact, the only reason Jecht knew about them was because of the SWA. As a handler, he had access to the scant reports on Omega Faction activity. One of the most recent attacks had occurred about two months ago. A doctor from the Agency, Gast Faremis, and his family had been ambushed on their way home from the theatre. Although guns and explosives were used, it was also noted that large amounts of damage had been done by sword, which was an unusual choice for the modern time period.

At least for conventional, large scale combat purposes anyway. There was a certain fear and pain associated with death by sword; it was hardly surprising to Jecht that a group like the Omega Faction would employ such means. What _was_ surprising was that Doctor Faremis' daughter had been left alive. On the brink of death, but alive.

"Signore Jecht?"

He blinked unhurriedly, bringing himself back to the present situation. "Look, kid, I said call me either 'Jecht' or 'The Great Jecht'; none of this in-between business."

"Alright, Great Jecht. Are you angry?"

"About what?"

"You've been clenching your hands pretty hard, even though you told me it's best to run open handed. Is something wrong?"

"It's nothing, kid." He set his gaze forward as they slowed to a stop by the stairs leading into the SWA headquarters. "You go get some lunch now. We ain't done yet for the day, so keep sharp."

In his peripheral vision, he saw Breska take two steps towards the entrance and pause. "Are you coming, Great Jecht?"

"I'll be fine, now get going."

"Yes, sir."

The girl walked inside. When left to her own pace she had no drive to break the limits.

Jecht chuckled to himself, leaning over as he gave in to his lungs' scream for deeper breaths. He had really pushed himself on the run over, nearly all-out towards the end. Still, she had barely broken a sweat. They were in opposite positions; he wanted to press beyond human limitation and she could care less. She had the ultimate means to do it and he, for all his years of training, did not.

Back in the day, he would have called it cheating. Now that he had a use for it, he really didn't care if cyborgs counted as fair play or not. All they needed was to be shown how much they had been given, what they were capable of.

Wiping the thin precipitation of sweat from his forehead, he smiled. He still had a hard time being beaten by a machine, but that machine was going to help him save what he could not on his own.

If it was for his son, then his pride would be an acceptable sacrifice.

}§{

**~Author's Note:~**

Ancora Punto: Italian for Anchor Point

I think Jean is the sort of guy that, when ordered to, will work every angle he can to accomplish his goal. He may seem a little conspicuously sympathetic in the above scene but note how nice of a guy he can pretend to be when dealing with Filipo. If only to get Vincent to do his job right, I think that Jean is capable of such things.  
I actually don't know what the shooting house exercise area is called so I had Marco refer to it as the maze. Also, kudos to anyone who figured out Aria's identity because they knew Gast's last name. That is all. -CG


	4. Dimenticato-Lasciato Part 1

**Dual Trigger**

-By Chronic Guardian-

**Chapter 4: Dimenticato/Lasciato Part 1**

_The Social Welfare Agency was not the first group to take interest in magitek engineering. It was with their funding, however, that I was able to perfect it and move beyond the prototypes originally developed with Professor Hojo and Professor Hollander. Although I left them for the company of Professor Faremis and Professor Crescent, I am now considering contacting Hollander once more as my time at the SWA draws to an end. Given the sensitivity of any and all information pertaining to the Agency, I will likely enough be placed either on a short leash or inside a small coffin (or urn)._

_Does it truly have to end this way? No, there is still so much to be done. Life as a fugitive will be difficult, but I already have numerous plans in place for evading the Agency. With the Fenrir Resonance I will have virtual immunity from any cyborg infused with magitek. _

_Still, it is the largest gamble I have ever taken. It is for the sake of advancement though, the sake of mankind as a whole. I cannot let the precious secrets of magitek slip from our grasp now that they are within so close a reach. True, the government will remain interested, but I cannot bring myself to leave these life giving keys in their selfish hands. Although my supply will be rather limited without outside backing, I will still be able to use my discoveries to help others._

_For whatever reason, magitek must continue on. I am the keeper of these secrets and until they are realized I cannot allow myself to die._

_No matter the cost, I will break free._

_-Personal journal of Cid Marquis Del Norte, 2003_

}§{

The plain white door that stood in front of her was just the same as every other door in the dormitories, including her own. If she had not come here so purposefully, she might have mistaken it for the same and entered without any hesitation. Since she _had_ come quite purposefully, she stood frozen with one hand poised to knock and the other clenched tightly behind her back.

It might have seemed strange to an outsider, she reflected, that fear would be present here rather than on the battlefield. She had seen men cry and lose their senses as bullets flew but approach strangers without the slightest apprehension. She simply could not seem to identify with this. Beside the point, it had been reported in a number of studies that most people would rather die than speak publicly.

She was not speaking in public, of course, but that did not make it any better.

If all went well, she would be speaking to Triela.

Triela was not a terrible person, but there was a certain amount of animosity that Terra sensed between the girl and Elsa. When the latter had joined the Agency, Terra had unconsciously cut her ties with the others in the interest of focusing her energies on dealing with her roommate. This had effectively placed Terra in the crossfire between Elsa's cold attitude and the frustrated attempts of the other girls to reach out to her. Sometimes it felt like she was disowned from both sides but recently, it seemed, she was finally making some headway with Elsa. She was determined to hold onto that.

Gathering up her courage, Terra gave the door a rap muffled by her hesitance.

"Come in."

She flinched. The voice was not Triela's.

"… Well?"

Had she gotten the wrong room? Had Triela moved?

"A-are you —? I mean, wh-who's there?"

A rather audible sigh followed by the thump of someone hitting the ground tugged at her instincts to flee but she stood her ground for the sake of her mission.

The door swung open to reveal a girl with long, straight, dark hair and glasses dressed in a brown and white sweater dress with black stockings. Vaguely, Terra could remember who she was.

"Terra? …Can I help you with something?"

She blinked twice, leaving behind any attempt to recollect the girl's identity. "Oh! Hi, do you know where Triela is?"

"You just missed her. She and Hilshire are off on a mission."

"Oh…" If only she had known that before putting herself through all that agony. Still, it did not have to be for nothing. "Well then, maybe you know."

"Maybe I do and maybe I don't. What is it you want to know?"

"Do you know where Elsa went?"

The girl gave her an odd squint. "…Can't you just ask your handler?"

"Cyan's busy today with paperwork and meetings, I don't think I should bother him."

Heaving a sigh, the girl averted her gaze for a moment, as if to say she did not want to deal with Terra standing in her doorway asking questions about people she did not care for. "Elsa and Lauro are down in Florence routing out the FRF forces again. They left earlier this morning."

"I see…" Terra tried not to look too disappointed. She had been very hopeful that today would be a good time to catch up with her roommate.

"What's the matter? You don't have anything better to do?"

"No, not really. I can't train without Cyan, ditto for the missions. I was going to see if Elsa wanted to do something because she always seems so—"

"Singlemindedly determined to make Lauro notice her? You're right, she needs another outlet for her energy."

So succinctly put. "…How do you know that?"

"It's hard not to notice. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got things I need to do."

Terra made a split second decision and stepped in front of the girl. "Wait, can I come with you?"

"That depends," the girl told her crisply. "Do you like gardening?"

"Like flower gardens?" Terra's face lit up. Finally, something friendly they could talk about. "Yes! Cyan takes me to see them sometimes. We go to the ones in—"

"It's an herb garden. Eventually I might plant some vegetables but herbs are more land efficient and more useful in day to day use. Some of them have flowers but that's not exactly the point."

Once again, Terra felt like she was metaphorically falling on her face in this conversation. It seemed that anything she could think to talk about just was not on the right track. "Oh... Well, can I come anyway?"

"I…guess it couldn't hurt."

"Thank you!" She smiled at the girl, wishing she could remember who she was. No name was coming to mind, but they had definitely spent at least some of their past together. It seemed that expending the vast majority of her attention on missions and trying to reach Elsa was very much affecting her social life; namely in her ability to have one.

Still, she would be getting something good done today. She would get to know this girl once more.

The walk to the herb garden was mutually silent; the girl moved with an air of purpose, bringing to mind images of Cyan walking briskly down the street on the way to a mission. Today, there was no mission, no targets to shoot, no evidence to erase, but there was still meaning. It seemed to Terra that if she and Cyan ever had to live another way, this was what she would choose.

After a brief detour to a supply closet to pick up tools, they arrived at their destination: a raised garden bed housing a collection of low growing, sturdy looking plants. It was not much like the flower gardens Terra visited with Cyan, but there was still an odd beauty to the plants. They were not as delicate as the flowers she had seen, but they still depended upon their gardener for nurturing. Even if they were hardier, plants were plants.

"You know," she began, leaning over to get a closer look at the vegetation, "I know we've met before but I can't remember your name."

"Gee, thanks Terra."

Ignoring the well-earned sting, she pressed on. "But, I feel like we were friends. Or we would have been. Do you remember which?"

"No, not really." The girl slowly shook her head as she passed a watering can over her leafy dominion. "You just kind of gave up on the rest of us once Elsa moved in. It's probably the conditioning, but we didn't really miss you after that."

"I guess it worked the other way too." Terra sighed, hugging her knees into her chest as she rocked back into a sitting position on the grass. "But now, I want to know you all again."

"Because Elsa's not here?"

"No, because I want us all to be able to smile together. You and Elsa both."

"You'd probably have better luck if you brought that idea up with Rico."

Terra paused, thinking back on who Rico was. Her mind replayed images of an energetic girl who loved everyone and everything, who took the world as her own little wonder and reveled in it every day. She always hung out with Henrietta, the two of them would often visit Triela and the girl with glasses, enjoying tea and cakes homemade by Claes. Claes…

"Hang on. _You're_ Claes, aren't you?" Terra remarked, turning her head to one side as she watched the other girl pick weeds out of the soil.

"Good to know I'm not _that _forgettable."

Terra smiled, savoring the feeling of matching up the dry humor with the person she had once known. "You haven't changed much, huh?"

"I guess not."

"So where's Signore Rabello today?"

Claes kept moving. "Who?"

"Rabello," Terra frowned. "Isn't he your handler?"

"I don't have a handler."

The triumph of linking together her old memories crumbled back in on the inequity of her ignorance. She could have sworn Claes had a handler.

"I… guess not."

}§{

Cyan came to a crisp stop outside the door and knocked with just enough force to be well heard on the other side.

"Come in."

Admitting himself through the portal, Cyan closed the door behind him before turning to greet his associate. "Good day, Dr. Bianchi."

"Good morning, Mr. Garamonde." The doctor, a man with short blond hair and a small patch of beard, put down a notebook he had been perusing and swiveled his chair around to face Cyan. "I appreciate your punctuality."

"May I ask what this is about, Doctor?"

"It has to do with Aria, Vincent's cyborg. She malfunctioned on the joint mission and has been placed on temporary stand-by consequently."

Cyan took a seat across from Bianchi and raised an eyebrow. "What kind of malfunction, Doctor?"

"She failed to remain ahead of Vincent," the man sighed. "An oddly fortuitous happening, but still a technical malfunction when considering her conditioning. That Vincent was able to react faster than her at all is difficult to swallow, but possible. What's puzzling everyone is why she didn't immediately follow him. True, the staircase was lit up with gunfire from the second story mere seconds after his ascent, but any other cyborg would at least be up there by that point."

"So what do you think, defective conditioning?"

"Perhaps." Bianchi retained an impassive stare. "But I'd like to explore some other possibilities. Have you ever been in danger without Terra reacting?"

Cyan leaned back in his chair, rolling back his eyes to times gone by since he had joined the Agency. "No… I don't… yes, once," he brought his gaze back to his compatriot. "I had told her to remain in cover while I advanced through incoming enemy fire so that I would have a vantage point to support her assault; a leap frog procedure, so to speak. I was narrowly missed by a number of salvos and upon later discussion found that Terra had fully remained behind cover rather than watching my advance. If I'm not mistaken, conditioning usually makes a cyborg hyper sensitive to her handler's safety; by this standard I suppose it was a rather odd interpretation of orders. We would think that she would intuitively lean towards my wellbeing as a priority but I guess fulfillment of orders won out that time. Does this help?"

The doctor nodded, reaching back for the notebook he had been studying earlier. "Yes. Thank you, Mr. Garamonde."

"Have any other handlers made similar reports?"

"Similar, but not close enough. Terra is the closest match to our current dilemma. I suspect that her…unique qualities may be at the heart of it."

"You mean her magitek infusion prior to conditioning?"

"That is precisely what I mean."

"Doctor Bianchi…you do recall that magitek was phased out before Aria arrived at the agency, yes?"

"Yes, it was phased out before even Elsa came. However, magitek was not necessarily restricted to cyborgs. Do you remember Dr. Marquis?

"Of course, Doctor. Why do you ask?"

"Dr. Faremis enlisted him. Although the official reports say that Gast had been looking into magitek for the purposes of the cyborgs, he may have had an ulterior motive."

Cyan thoughtfully stroked his mustache. The significance of the conclusion was not glaringly obvious to him yet; but they did seem to be on to something. "His daughter."

"Exactly. Dr. Faremis mentioned in one of his reports that magitek can alter and strengthen the immune system. I've been wondering why he would note such a thing when our cyborgs have rarely, if ever, exhibited any flaw in their immune response. It was on record, however, that his daughter Aerith had contracted a rare and fatal autoimmune syndrome. Strangely, the malady vanished just a few weeks before Dr. Marquis was recruited into our ranks.

"If Aerith had indeed been infused with magitek so long ago, the process may have had more time to act unhampered of conditioning and produce the response we are now observing. Perhaps a patient with prolonged exposure to magitek becomes unresponsive to conditioning. Of course, it is all theoretical; but noting a similar experience with Terra does give weight to my suspicions."

"I'm glad I could help, Doctor. But, a question, if I may?"

"Of course, Mr. Garamonde."

"Why did you ask me instead of Dr. Crescent?"

"I did ask Dr. Crescent. The Agency has long supposed that Gast infused his daughter with magitek to reverse her condition, Dr. Crescent only confirmed that. Unfortunately, we can only go off of official reports and firsthand accounts. If Gast kept a journal on his daughter's reaction to magitek we have yet to discover it."

"…I see then," Cyan murmured. Gast's death had left quite an impact on the Agency, surprisingly enough. With the decline of faith in magitek, the department that contained Doctors Marquis, Faremis, and Crescent had shrunk, beginning with Dr. Marquis' unexpectedly successful escape of the company. Now they were left with even more questions about the unfinished work that the Agency had deemed unproductive. Questions like Terra.

"I've one more query, Doctor."

"I'll see if it's within my power to answer." Bianchi's voice was as measured as ever. The man was of a warm temperament but he was wary of what information passed his lips. Cyan could hardly blame such habits, given his line of work.

"How is Lauro doing?"

Dr. Bianchi paused for a moment, his gaze falling to the distance, before refocusing back on Cyan. "He… seems to be fine. Why do you ask?"

"Because Terra is worried about them."

"Alright then…" The words seemed to deepen rather than dispel Bianchi's contemplation. "This will be off record Cyan. I am aware that both you and Terra hold a certain amount of disdain for Lauro."

"I won't deny it."

"… He's not a bad man. He's not bad at his job and he treats others with a measure of respect, even when he dislikes them. However, I do agree that he has a rather unfortunate flaw for this line of work."

"He does not treat Elsa as human." Cyan felt it best that he bring it to the forefront. It was nearly impossible to tell what the Doctor was thinking, but he could be certain there was a slight glimmer of reluctant understanding in the man's eyes.

"That's not completely essential to the long run operation of a fratello."

_But it does help._ The silent addition hung in the air between Cyan's unconvinced stare and Bianchi's formulation of how to proceed on the subject.

"He does not treat her badly, per se," the Doctor continued after a moment, "and she has remained fully functional so I can't say he's negatively affecting her performance; but there's something odd between the two of them. I believe that Lauro is struggling with what his job entails. He is a fair shot and a good strategist, but he doesn't know how to form a long term relationship. For him, it has always been a matter of using people for a specified amount of time and moving on before roots take hold. Perhaps he has done this for so long that his ability to take root has been lost entirely.

"When dealing with Elsa, he is treating a long term partnership like a short term one. He doesn't know how to invest in her, how to construct points of connection. The Conditioning commands her to reach out to him, but he is bound by no such strings and would likely enough prefer to stay that way. A cyborg's desire isn't necessarily to be deeply loved and doted upon by her handler, but even a stern man like Signore Jean connects with his cyborg by being a steady and involved hand in her life. If Lauro doesn't realize this… I don't know what will happen. "

"What indeed. I suppose that is highly variable upon Elsa's conclusion of what role Lauro has carved for himself," Cyan mused. "After all, we _have_ taught them to solve complications by use of a 9x19mm cartridge."

"Mr. Garamonde, I don't believe that's very likely _or_ funny."

"Only a half joke, we play with uncharted territory, do we not?"

"The conditioning ought to be a failsafe against that," Dr. Bianchi assured him. "Simply tell Terra to focus on her work and that Elsa is in good hands."

"Is that so?"

"She's with her handler, isn't she? If nothing else, Lauro knows that he needs Elsa to succeed. Besides, we have check-ups fairly soon; I will make my own observations on the matter."

"…I suppose I have little choice but to trust your professional opinion," Cyan conceded, standing up and offering his hand. "Until next time, Doctor."

Obliging to the proffered shake, Bianchi smiled. "Yes. Please document any further oddities in Terra's behavior, if you will. We don't know how much ground we'll have to recover so anything will be appreciated."

_And a strong professional finish; ever keeping business in mind,_ Cyan wryly acknowledged. He did not know what to think of Bianchi save that the man ran on his own odd code, not unlike the various other constituents of Section Two. No matter what else, though, they did their job and did it well.

Leaving the room, he removed a notebook from his shirt pocket and reviewed the day's agenda as he continued on down the hallways of the SWA headquarters. Sadly, the schedule did not leave room for interaction with Terra until a brief slot in the evening. Life in Section Two was swelling with obligations as the Omega Faction and the Padania rose whatever hell they could. At the very least, Cyan wished he could drop Terra off at the range so that she could get some practice in. It was his understanding that she preferred testing her accuracy with her SVU-A rather than testing her social skills. Although the latter could use some work, he was happy that she had found something to enjoy and focus on in her meager lot in life.

}§{

**~Author's Note:~**

Dimenticato/Lasciato: Italian for "Forgotten/Left Behind"  
9x19mm cartridge: a common handgun bullet type.  
Hopefully Bianchi is adequately professional in this chapter. Elsewise I will have a slightly painful rewrite ahead of me. Special thanks goes to FullMentalPanic and Fahiru, who give me feedback in person. To those precious few of you who read this far in such an odd and misplaced story, you too have my thanks. If anything seems out of place or misspelled, please notify me, PM or otherwise.


	5. Dimenticato-Lasciato Part 2

**Dual Trigger**

-By Chronic Guardian-

**Chapter 5: Dimenticato/Lasciato Part 2**

_To my understanding, the conditioning process overclocks a patient's traumatic response, inducing amnesia and an altered mental state conducive to the purposes of the SWA. This is, of course, not the only thing it does but I do find it the most intriguing. What is most incredible is the drug's ability to bring about such a state without forcing the patient into a dual persona. It does not surprise me that a protégé like Dr. Belisario is capable of avoiding this side effect; the true challenge that even he has not yet overcome lies in the subconscious._

_It has been observed that the cyborgs cry in their sleep. Although they often wake without recollection of the cause for their tears, they occasionally will remark upon some event prior to their conditioning when asked what they dreamt about. It would seem that the memories we thought we erased have simply been sealed off. I must then wonder: what would it take to reconnect the subconscious to the conscious and unseal those memories? In most cases, this would prove detrimental and thus I shall refrain; but it remains an intriguing question. Perhaps someday, when all this is passed, we will explore the possibility._

_-Research Journal of Cid Marquis del Norte, 2000_

}§{

"Target is in range." The boy lowered his binoculars and scratched at the cloth mask concealing his face. "You ready for this one?"

"We'll have to be quick about it." His companion's tierce and to-the-point tone was understandable, but still slightly disconcerting. If someone of so much power was worried by the circumstances, then there was ample cause for concern.

"Relax, we'll be covering you. Isn't that right, Fuu?"

"Affirmative."

The boy smiled. "See? All we gotta do is stick with the plan."

The man he had been trying to assure sighed and hefted his hand guns that had been fitted for anesthetic darts. He tucked the weapons into holsters under his red-brown leather jacket, barely making an impression in its ill fit. "It's the inclusion of two targets that puts me on edge; particularly when taking down the easy one makes the difficult one even more so."

"You worry too much," the boy told him. "Haze's got this all figured out. So long as we remember the contingencies—"

"All seven of them."

"—We should be fine," the boy finished, brushing off the interjection as best he could. "Look, every one of us looks up to you. But it doesn't just mean that you're what we wish we could be, it also means that we'll do anything we can to help you. Me and Fujin have got your back, and she's the finest shot we've got, ain't that right?"

"Debatable."

"Not helping, Fuu."

Ignoring the banter, the man fixed him with clear, crystal blue eyes. "Just… take care not to be noticed. Alright, Seifer?"

"Hey, I've got this," they boy replied confidently. "Just don't leave us hanging, alright?"

"Right then. That timer's ticking. Watch the girl."

"You got it!" Once again putting the binoculars to his face, Seifer was just in time to see the target in question enter the six story hotel. Taking in her appearance, a green beret, matching knee length coat, dual blonde braids, and an expensive violin case, he leaned forward onto the edge of the roof top.

"Back."

Reluctantly acknowledging Fujin's suggestion, he scooted backwards an inch. She was right of course, they had come too far to risk getting spotted now. This was their first mission directly involving the much rumored Social Welfare Agency and it was thrilling to know they were one step ahead.

It had taken months to track the activity and countless meetings to find the patterns, but they were finally on to something. The fratello they were currently observing was in the midst of eliminating the Republican Faction in Tuscany. It was already well known that taking down the RF would mean dealing with their affiliates in the police force. The next steps had been obvious but elusive: stake out safe houses and wait for the target to show up. Pinning down just where all the safe houses were had been challenging, but with so many of them working on it, the task was by no means impossible. Seifer simply felt sorry for all the others who had sat around all day at the alternate sites waiting for the target to appear. It had been luck of the draw that dictated his success.

After finding out where the target wished to strike, he had observed for another day, waiting for Fujin and their adult companion to meet up with him and formulate a plan of capture. It was common sense to hold off until there was a sense of security established, if only a marginal one, before making their move. If they were successful, they would be reporting back to the man who kept watch over them, Previo Haze, with a bounty beyond compare. Haze was a mystery to the children, all they knew was that he was a scientific genius and had saved them from the mobs they used to run errands for. Seifer would never forget the day Haze and Wol had saved him and his gang from the midst of a turf war. It was strength like that he both admired and yearned for, strength to be the leader who never let his team down.

This was his stepping stone into bigger and better things. If he and Fujin could prove proficient as a support team to Wol then there was a great chance they would eventually be trusted with other matters. It wasn't that he was bothered by Haze not telling them why he needed government agents captured, but he wanted to be worthy of trust so that in the future, when it really did count, Haze could depend on him.

There really wasn't much question about it now, the mission was practically in the bag with its feet tucked behind it. Neither target had shown any awareness of their presence, and even if they had been noticed it would be far too late in t-minus thirty seconds.

The quick revving of an engine followed by the sharp squeal of tires yanked his observations from the hotel to the backstreets just in time to see the fratello's car speed off. Apparently, he noted with a sinking feeling, they had been thirty seconds too confident.

"Fuu! Cover the door!" he growled, turning his attention to searching for their full grown companion. If the cyborg entered the scene now, anywhere near the former location of her handler would not be a safe place to be standing.

"Crowd."

"I wouldn't count on that to stop her. We _are _dealing with her handler, after all."

"Improbable." Still, she followed the order and trained her scope on the building's entrance.

Satisfied, Siefer continued his search for Wol. "Come on… where are you." His magnified gaze swept the streets for a glimpse of the red-brown leather jacket the man had been wearing. He was fast, Seifer knew that much. He would at least be down into the square by now, if not immediately within the car's former premise.

Seifer's insides lurched at the possibility that Wol had taken the Handler and gone off on his own. It would be highly uncharacteristic of the man and accomplish nothing, but it would account for the disappearance. He shook off the thought, Wol would have been more subtle. The next conclusions, however, was no less assuring.

Either the Handler had bolted on his own, or…

His binoculars came to rest on an archway above the alley. Clenching his hands on the sand paper grip bindings he had added to his binoculars, he watched as a long barrel set itself aiming down the route of the cyborg's return.

"Fujin, roof three."

"Entrance?"

"We'll have to risk it. Can you get a shot in?"

Fujin swiveled around the rifle to get a good look at the spotted gunman. "Higher ground."

He grimaced at the assessment. Still, their 1891/30 Mosin-Nagant might have enough accuracy for a proper distraction. They almost literally had one shot at this, due to both the bolt-action nature of the Mosin-Nagant and the sound of the shot that would give away their position. The other shooter, however, was apparently unaware of their presence and was leaning out on the edge to allow himself some extra maneuverability. Seifer only hoped this would be enough to give Fuu the advantage. She was, after all, their finest shot, and they were not about to disappoint Previo by allowing the cyborg to receive any more damage than necessary.

"We can't afford to move now," he told her, making mental calculations of the wind angle. If Fujin missed he would have to try the flashbang they had packed. Its effects would be greatly limited outdoors which made a precise throw imperative. Given the distance, their odds of success were shrinking dramatically. "Can you hit his barrel?" If they were already on a long shot he figured he might as well dream big.

"Impossible."

"Well aren't we optimistic."

"…Improbable."

"That's the spirit."

Coincidentally, just after the 7.62x54mmR cartridge began its flight from Fujin's Mosin-Nagant towards the other rifleman, something behind them went crunch. Either Wol had not remembered the makeshift alarm they had rigged up or an unintended audience had just made its arrival.

Rolling onto his back, Seifer felt something pass across the bridge of his nose. Yanking his Beretta M9 out of its holster, Seifer fired off five rounds into the intruder's chest. Falling backwards in death, his assailant grunted and released their weapon. A sword… what an unusual choice.

He had been lucky that the blade had been too dull to go more than a quarter inch deep. Or at least, that was what he thought until his vision started to cloud over.

"Seifer!" Fujin had dropped her rifle and was at his side. That was a good sign. She wouldn't have put down her weapon if she hadn't made the shot.

"Ignus," he muttered, fumbling in his coat for the antidote.

Fujin nodded and began desperately digging through his pocket; grasping for the pills Previo had provided him with. This was not the first time they had encountered the poisons of the Omega Faction. _Hopefully_, Seifer thought wryly to himself, _it won't be the last either._

To die now would be an awful shame.

Three gunshots resonating from the alleyway forced a grimace as Fuu triumphantly produced the antidote from his coat pocket and shoved it into his mouth. Following up with some water, Seifer began to feel the effects of the venom lessen.

"Help… Wol," he whispered to her, letting go of consciousness. They had not succeeded spectacularly, but they were still alive. For the Lost Children, this was enough.

}§{

This time she would do it flawlessly. Anything less than perfect was not worthy of Lauro. If he didn't praise her then she didn't deserved to be praised.

Walking at a casual but steady pace, she navigated the empty back alley, entered the building and walked up the stairs immediately across from the front doors. Nobody stopped her, nobody cared. She was just the child who wandered the hotel apartments, her purpose of no consequence to the staff or residents. On the second story she saw the guard man, dutifully manning his post just like yesterday and still not suspecting for a moment that the little girl with a violin case was going to be his demise.

Other than the lone sentry, only a short sprint lay between her and the completion of her objective. Continuing up a few floors until she was out of earshot, Elsa flipped open her phone and speed dialed Lauro's number. "Lauro, this is Elsa."

"Right. What's the setup?" No formalities, Lauro was focus incarnate.

"It's the same as yesterday. There is one guard positioned outside the front door."

"Alright. Take them out, all of them. And Elsa?"

"Yes, sir."

"Don't forget the photos."

Ending the call, she walked up the last flight of stairs and entered the elevator. Lauro had reprimanded her long ago when she had taken the time to reply with words rather than just getting to it. Once inside the relative seclusion of the elevator, Elsa removed her coat, scarf, and hat before opening her violin case to bring out her SIG SG 550. Using the carbine's barrel to operate the elevator controls, she stepped back and waited.

The moment the doors opened she stepped out of cover and lit up the guard, not giving him the chance to cry out in surprise, much less pull his weapon from its holster.

She moved on as soon as she ceased fire.

The door was presumably locked. Four rounds to the handle mechanism and that was no longer an issue. Kicking open the door, she took half of a second to identify the positions of the two targets immediately on the other side before she charged forward, unloading her cartridges on the men. Someone came at her from the right, causing her to reflexively throw up her arm to shield her eyes before taking him out with the last shot of the magazine. Another of the apartment's occupants appeared from the left, knocking her now useless gun out of her hands. Pulling her SIG P229 Pistol, she quickly retorted with two shots.

The man fell with a limp thud. It was almost over, she was not about to get sloppy now. She brought out the camera Lauro had provided her with. Snapping photographs of the corpses and the weapons they had intended to deliver to Padanian elements, she barely flinched at the distant sound of an engine revving.

Movement out of the corner of her eyes confirmed that one shot had not been enough for the second to last gunman. Two more shots from her pistol and the job was finished.

She would have to leave that part out of the report to Lauro unless specifically asked.

At any rate, the deed was done and she was eager to return to her handler as quickly as possible. Her caution on her last job had cost her a good scolding about unnecessary time wasted. Racing back to the elevator, she quickly replaced the articles she had shed there and stowed the now empty 550 in the Amati violin case. Briskly stepping out the moment there was a gap wide enough to accommodate her, she continued to march out into the plaza, slamming open the doors with the force of a gunshot on her way there.

No. That _had_ been a gunshot. People had either stopped or were moving away from the alleyway that led to where Lauro had parked. Something was happening that they hadn't planned for; and she needed to be protecting him. The standing orders generally were to eliminate all witnesses, but guarding Lauro took priority. Elsa would much rather risk criticism from Lauro than risk losing him.

Hurrying on against the current, she ducked into the shadows of the alley and rushed towards Lauro's location. _He'll be alright,_ she told herself, _he'll tell me not to run, that it draws too much attention, that if something actually had happened he would have called me. _

But rather than finding Lauro waiting in his Land Rover, she only found a tall man with a black ski mask in a red-brown leather jacket and dark blue jeans flanked by two bodies on the ground with their necks snapped. Lauro was gone, and this man had something to do with it.

The man gave belated notice as she dropped her violin case, brought her SIG P229 to bear on him, and fired three shots. He was fast enough to bring his arm up to prevent a headshot from connecting. He also had enough tolerance for pain that he could ignore the received wounds and take a step towards her. Unloading another four rounds at him, Elsa could barely believe it as the man lunged to the side and rolled out of the way of her shots.

Fine. She still had one more shot left in the magazine.

Another pull of the trigger and she realized the gun had jammed on that last shot. Throwing the pistol, she moved in to finish things in close quarters.

Apparently he had been expecting that move. Catching the handgun before it could connect, the man spun and smashed it against her just-fast-enough arm block, breaking her momentum and throwing her off balance.

Elsa went with the blow and rolled into a crouch. She couldn't stop yet, she needed to win for Lauro.

Launching herself at her opponent, she landed a full force body punch before he could react. Underneath his jacket, she heard a sharp crack from what she could only assume was a rib. Pulling back her hand for another hit, she noticed it was covered in red.

_But I didn't shoot him in the torso…_

A fist to her own gut, one far harder than a regular flesh and blood fist should have been, furthered her confusion. Staggering backwards, she glared up at the man. Was this her death match? Had she finally run into to something as powerful as another cyborg?

If she took him down would she finally win Lauro's praise?

A shattered pistol fell from his jacket on the side she had hit. Drawing an identical one from the opposite side, the man almost fired when she grabbed his arm and rammed her other hand against the outside of his elbow. It would have snapped the joint if he hadn't been fast enough to brace it from the inside. To do so, she acknowledged, would mean that he was just as fast and strong as she was.

His knee connected with her abdomen, throwing her far enough back that he could get in a shot. Elsa braced for the impact and prepared to attack again. The sting of the projectiles the pistol discharged, though, felt unlike the other bullets she had encountered in her career.

Throwing the thought off, she charged. He was bleeding in his midsection, as evidenced by her hand, so he would be fairly sensitive to its protection. Giving a feint jab towards the area, she shifted her weight into what would normally be a jaw shattering right hook to his face. For once, he acted predictably and dropped his guard to protect his abdomen but pulled back just enough that the blow glanced off his head.

Still, it had apparently connected. The man stumbled back and fell to the ground. Struggling to flip himself over, he aimed his pistol at her again.

Her legs moved as if they were tied to a stack of concrete blocks.

Something was wrong. She should have been close enough to break him, she should have been fast enough to dodge, she should have been strong enough to kill him by now.

The next shot she saw as if time had suddenly been stretched thin. There was no muzzle flare. The object that left the gun was not a bullet, it was a dart. How many times had he fired at her the first time? Three? Four?

The man slumped over, defeated.

The dart skimmed past her cheek, leaving only a trace of its now recognizably tranquilizing liquid.

Her time was limited. She could either try to finish the man or find somewhere to hide. Odds were he wasn't working alone, if she passed out here she would be in their grasp. If she did get captured, they might bring her to Lauro.

Unless Lauro had never been captured.

All that was evident was that Lauro was absent from the scene. He could have escaped, he could be finding a safe location to contact her from, he could be planning a counter strike.

He could be deciding that a cyborg who can't protect her handler is useless.

Whatever the case, she could not allow herself to be caught now.

Struggling with her leaden limbs, she moved off down the alleyway, plucking darts from herself as she desperately looked for something to use as cover.

There. A dumpster. It wasn't far from the scene but it would have to do. Using some boxes of junk someone had neglected to throw away as a stepping stool, she pushed open the lid and hauled herself inside. With any luck, she wouldn't oversleep.


	6. Aria di Mezzo Carattere Part 1

**Dual Trigger**

-By Chronic Guardian-

**Chapter 6: Aria di Mezzo Carattere Part 1**

Florescent light was a funny thing, Aria reflected. It did its best, and was supposedly preferable to incandescent bulbs, but it still felt incomparably sad when placed in favor of natural lighting. She remembered her first day at the agency, she had sat in the window sill and basked in the fleeting rays of the sunset as she cleaned the Beretta Vincent had given her. Natural light, as she soon concluded, was hard to come by when matters of importance were being discussed.

She sat attentively, refusing to break eye contact with the man before her. His kind smile seemed to fit with his spotless white lab coat, but his blond hair felt out of place, as if she were expecting him to be quite different. Focusing on his words was mildly challenging, particularly when she was so busy watching his eyes. His words were open but his eyes were guarded. She didn't know why she knew what guarded eyes looked like or how it was relevant, but she was instinctively concerned that he wasn't being completely open with her. They _had_ been close somehow, she was sure of it.

The subtle shift of his eyebrows communicating a hint of concern prompted her to raise her own in query.

"Aria, do you need me to repeat the question?"

"… Sorry, sir."

"Have you been making any friends, Aria?"

"The girls all seem very nice, sir."

"Yes, they are generally supportive of each other." His eyes flickered just a tinge. Apparently, he was aware she was dodging the question. If he was anything like he should be, he would cautiously retry.

"Sharing rooms is also common. Who do you bunk with?"

"Quistis." No elaboration. What would he think of that? He did seem to be an awfully curious man, even more so than she remembered.

"Do you get along with Quistis?"

"We don't see each other much. She's often either training with her handler or observing the other girls when she's on campus." Entirely true. She did omit that when they did see each other, Quistis seemed perfectly content to listen as Aria catalogued the events of the day or talk about flowers, or how very fascinating Signore Vincent was. But Doctor Bianchi did not need to know that, and unless he proved otherwise she was happy to beat around the bush as long as they liked. Just like the exercises Signore Vincent had her do, she treated this conversation as a test of her skills. As of now she was only moving behind cover, but if that guarded gaze faltered for one moment, she would close in and retrieve victory.

It was not that anyone had ordered her to get information out of Doctor Bianchi, but she held it as a sort of personal goal. He was familiar and she wasn't supposed to have anything familiar in her life besides Signore Vincent. It was so very interesting that she felt she couldn't help but play this game.

"Aria, do you remember Doctor Faremis?"

The question seemed rather sudden. "Doctor… Faremis?" She tried the name out, as if holding it in front of the mirror to see how it fit. It certainly seemed to resonate with something in her, but not enough to truly be called remembering. "No, sir. I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize." There! His eyes softened slightly as he made some note on his clip board. Doctor Faremis had something to do with what she wanted. If only a name, it was something to go off of. "Now, about your training—"

She was _not_ going to let this chance slip away. "Who is Doctor Faremis?"

Bianchi paused briefly. Apparently he had not been expecting her to interrupt. "He… was a former employee of the Agency. Now that I think about it, he left before your time. But back to the question—"

How odd… she must have imagined the connection then. Of course, there was the possibility that Bianchi's words, like his eyes, _were_ hedged against their true meaning. She would ask Signore Vincent about it later. Whatever the case, she had gotten something and was satisfied with that much.

Noticing that Bianchi's mouth had ceased movement, she frowned a moment as she skipped back to what they had last been talking about.

"I like my training," she told him cheerfully, half-guessing at what the question had really been about. "Signore Vincent shows me many things. Yesterday, I practiced my sharpshooting. Signore Vincent says I'm clumsy at long range and that I'm more suited to shotguns currently. Eventually though, I'll be able to kill effectively in both instances."

Had that been a bit much? He wasn't giving her a whole lot of reaction other than furiously scribbling down notes. Maybe she had said something wrong…

Bianchi looked up from his log book, "And how are you feeling lately? Any aches or pains?"

He was moving on to another subject; that was a good sign. "No sir." Why would they ask? She hadn't been out in the field since the joint mission so any chances of being damaged had been minimized. Or was there something else they meant?

"Good. Thank you, Aria. How about emotionally?"

"I'm fine." Signore Vincent still trained with her every day so being put on standby didn't make much difference. She was slightly worried about the mission they had gone on. Although she had followed Signore Vincent's orders she could sense from the others that she had done something wrong. Whatever that was, she couldn't say.

"Are you certain?"

She nodded. "Absolutely, sir."

"How about your ability to concentrate?"

Aria tried to suppress the instinctive guilty hunch of her shoulders. "I can manage." _Especially out in the field where it counts_, she added silently. It didn't seem like good form to let Bianchi know how she viewed the session.

"Your work requires that you be fully capable in this area, Aria. Unless you can concentrate you won't be able to help Signore Vincent much. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

"That about does it then," Bianchi informed her pleasantly, smiling at her as he finished his notes. "We'll see you again in two weeks."

"Thank you, sir."

Hopping off her stool, Aria went on her way. She didn't stop in the hallway, of course; she went straight out to the sidewalks, passing Ferro and one of the other girls on the way there. Smiling wide at the muted sunshine awaiting her outside, Aria noted that it was overcast. She liked overcast days, open skies felt too empty, too exposed.

Things seemed to pause in place for her as the cool Mediterranean breeze swept through to say that winter was almost there, but not quite yet. They still had the lovely last bits of autumn to enjoy in the meantime.

"Aria," she turned immediately at the sound of Signore Vincent's voice. He was wearing his dark, thin suit like usual. Nobody pulled it off better than Signore Vincent.

"Yes, sir?"

"We've got the go ahead for a mission." He told her, meeting her on the eaves of the central field she was surveying. "We lost contact with one of our fratello in Siena. You and I will be assisting Jean and Rico to track them down. Get packed, we're leaving tonight."

"Yes, sir!" She offered the biggest grin she could muster before racing off towards her room. She felt great. Whatever she had done wrong on the last mission was now far behind her. Whatever sadness she had forgotten, she had no need to remember.

}§{

It was bitter irony that a man who had studied medicine his whole life was nearly powerless to save his own daughter, Gast Faremis thought to himself. He stood on the shoulders of giants and yet, for all their knowledge, Aerith was dying a slow painful death as her own immune system beleaguered its host. It had been suggested that perhaps a mix of the conditioning drugs would be enough to suppress the haywire white blood cells but then they would also need to include another combination of drugs to maintain a replacement immune system. Even then, how long the approach would work before her system shut down entirely from over use of foreign matter was sketchy, at best.

Scrolling down the search results, he opened another window about alternative treatments. As it quickly turned out to be a false lead, he closed it and tried the next item on the list.

"Dr. Gast?" Lucrecia Crescent-Valentine, another member of the Research Development Department of Section 2, entered his cubicle.

"Good evening, Doctor. Something I can help you with?"

Lucrecia shook her head slowly, "no, sir. But I did think you might be interested in this." She placed a large file on his desk and smiled. "They say it might be the next big leap since cybernetics."

Abandoning his web search, Gast opened up the indicated document. Inside was a stack of papers and an article from the Journal of Experimental Medicine translated into Italian. A photograph in the article showed three men with a very large container of synthetic substance. The subtitle identified them as Professors Marquis, Hollander, and Hojo; three scientists at Shin-Ra Inc who had created a form of medicine they called "magitek".

Magitek, Gast rolled his eyes. What kind of a name was magitek? It sounded like a miracle cure con job done by someone with a terrible sense of irony. "I don't need medical fairytales," he grumbled, glaring up at Dr. Crescent, "I need something that I know is going to save her!"

"Keep reading," she urged him on, undeterred by his initial evaluation.

Giving her a resigned sigh, he continued. Lucrecia seemed like a dreamer at times, but her abilities as a scientist and understanding of the subject matter was difficult to argue with. There was a reason she had been recruited into the Social Welfare Agency, after all. As he read on, the process became understandable, though a bit vague on detail.

The claims were astounding. Magitek seemed to be the second half of the Agency's conditioning process; allowing a patient's body to integrate with abnormal factors and become highly resistant to harmful agents. If they could make Angelica and Triela's bodies accept the cybernetic implants they would be able to drastically scale back on conditioning. Especially with the intent of expanding Section Two's cyborg program, it would be a fool's move to ignore integrating this as early on as possible.

Not only that, it seemed it held the possibility to save Aerith.

Skimming through the side effects, Gast noted that its current form was not recommended for adults over the age of thirty. It made small enough difference to him, Aerith was only seven years old. If treating her immune system with magitek would reverse the disease, he was ready to hunt down the doctors and pay for an operation on the spot. All the doubts he had entered with had vanished in the face of this hope.

"Do we have anything about these men on file?"

"I thought you might ask," Lucrecia grinned as she pointed back to the papers she had delivered. Gast belatedly identified the remaining documents as print outs concerning each of the men in the article. As always, she had performed with admirable foresight.

Leafing through the prints, he noticed that she had circled Dr. Marquis' name with red ink; a not so subtle hint that he was the ringleader of the process. True, with all the costs Section Two was accruing it only made sense to enlist the best of the three men. Coincidentally, Dr. Marquis' was also the only native born of the three. Not that it would mean much, Section Two was a hodgepodge of all sorts of nationalities.

"How can we contact them?"

"Actually, I would recommend only talking to Dr. Marquis, and I'd suggest you be discreet about it. The other two are rumored to have quite the ego and might not be above some nasty tricks if they get jealous of our favor."

"Why did you include the other two in the stack?" It was more of an idle curiosity than a genuine query.

"Mainly to put to rest any doubts that Dr. Marquis really is the best choice."

"Personal experience?"

Lucrecia produced a pocket notebook from her lab coat and laid it between them. "Something like that." _Rmber Dr. Grim?_ She wrote down in short hand before offering him her pencil.

"So it was a long time back then?" He gave her a sidelong look. _Your Prof.?_

_Had = condition to Aerith- Volntrd for tretmnt- now cured._ "He lectured at the university I went to."

"Really now?" _How?_

"Although he was respected for his extraordinary grasp on current science, some of his newer ideas weren't really accepted." _The magitek altrs the imun resp by intrdcing—_

Gast pulled the notebook over and tried again. _How can I get it for Aerith?_

_Plan. Check last page._ "Of course, if they work it doesn't really matter to the agency, now does it?"

Flipping over to the last slip of paper in the stack she had given him, he found a few handwritten lines on an otherwise blank page.

_Agency- Will want this tech- Will want any and all sources of info on results._

_Dr. Marquis-Wants better staff/facilities & has track record of returning favors_

_Aerith-Needs cure._

_You-Recruit Marquis-returns favor by curing Aerith off record._

Gast frowned. "I suppose you are right." _Why off record?_

Pulling over the document, Lucrecia scribbled in something new, sharply underlined a group of words, and pushed it back to him.

_Will want any and all sources of info on results__-__AERITH_

He leaned back in his chair, scrutinizing the statement through his glasses. _Really? _He wrote down in the notebook.

"Happens every now and then. I'm not immune to success, Doctor." Her cheerful tone was highly offset by the serious gleam in her eyes as she answered on paper. _Be __careful__. She doesn't desrve to be a test subjct._

"I guess so," Gast sighed. There was some truth to her thoughts, it would be most prudent to guard his family against further connection with the Agency. "Well, I should be getting back to work then. Thank you for the advice, Doctor."

"Absolutely. Oh, and how is Aerith?"

"…We'll see."

"Bring her over sometime, Vincent has a few days off this week; and you know how close the two of them are."

He smiled, "Yes, although she calls him uncle, one would wonder if brother is not a better term."

}§{

**~Author's Note:~**

Aria di Mezzo Carattere: Aria of half character. Also the name of the song that plays during the famous opera scene of Final Fantasy VI.


	7. Aria di Mezzo Carattere Part 2

**Dual Trigger**

-By Chronic Guardian-

**Chapter 7: Aria di Mezzo Carattere Part 2**

"Signore Vincent?"

"Mmm?" He gave her half a glance before returning his attention to driving. He'd felt very uncomfortable about interacting with her ever since that conversation with Jean. Now he always had to confront the idea of how exactly he viewed her every time she talked like this. Was she the tool of vengeance for his fallen friends, the guardian of his family's future, the punishment for his sins, or just the girl who had always been left behind while everyone else lived? And if she was that last one, what did he do about it now that she was his direct responsibility? Vincent shied away from such thoughts as quickly as possible. Once he got himself thinking on a subject like that it was _very_ difficult to give up until it was thoroughly exhausted. Given his propensity for brooding, it was entirely possible that a single line of thought could occupy him for months on end if not decisively concluded.

"Why don't we ride with Jean and Rico?"

"Because that would draw too much attention. Besides…" He glared at the car in front of him, "Jean's not much for conversation if he can help it."

"Sometimes, you don't like to talk either."

"…" He hated it when people perceived him more accurately than he did.

"It's funny, then. You'd think he would be used to it when he has someone like Rico."

_Maybe that's why he doesn't like to._ Vincent made absolutely certain the words did not leave his mouth. This girl had kept her thoughts inside too often, he did not want to be the one that perpetuated that.

_You give her a different name and hope it all becomes new, right?_ Jean's words from when Vincent had first transferred echoed back. _Forgetting about the past doesn't make the future brighter, it just removes your point of reference._

"Maybe Rico talks because Jean won't." Not a spectacular response but at least it was something less negative.

"I wonder why they chose us…"

Vincent grunted, _Because Jean wants to test magitek out on the field under his own observation._ "They suspect that something… complicated happened to Lauro and Elsa. Sending in just one fratello might be a redundant mistake."

"Yeah, but why us? Why not Cyan and Terra, or Jose and Henrietta? Doesn't Jean like his brother?"

"Just because you like someone does not mean they're your first choice to work with."

"...Like me?"

He pursed his lips. That had been poor phrasing on his part. "…No." The late response probably wasn't helping, but words to comfort and assure her were slow to formulate. Lucrecia often told him that he needed to get better at that sort of thing; now he believed her.

"Signore Vincent?"

"…Yes?"

"I want you to know that I'll do my best."

He kept his eyes on the road, not daring to look behind again. "Thank you, Aria. So will I."

}§{

"Zio?"

The sun shone brightly on the grassy hillside they were spending the afternoon on. He drifted his gaze from the partially cloudy skies to the little girl that sat with his son between him and Lucrecia. "Yes, Aerith?"

"Daddy got me a story book. He says someone at work wrote it."

"Oh really?"

She nodded vigorously. "Would you read it to me?"

Vincent exchanged a glance with Lucrecia. "I don't know… Aren't you old enough to read it?"

"But your reading voice is so _good, _Zio!"

"She's right," Sephiroth Valentine, his stoic five year old, intoned coolly.

A nod from his wife assured him that the majority vote was overwhelmingly not in his favor. "Guess I have no choice," he sighed, shrugging his shoulders in mock defeat. "So where is this book?"

"Back in the car. Can Sephy and me go get it?"

"Sephiroth and I, dear," Lucrecia corrected the ten year old girl. "And yes, you may."

Jumping to her feet and giving Vincent a quick squeeze around the neck, Aerith grabbed Sephiroth's hand and skipped down the far side of the hill that led to the vehicle they had arrived in. Vincent would have preferred to walk, seeing as they were only a stone's throw from the Section 2 office that Lucrecia worked at, but his spouse had insisted upon a car. _Sephiroth isn't used to hiking, dear, _She had argued. _Besides, I haven't got any shoes to fit the task._

That second point had not seemed all that valid, seeing as either of them could easily afford a pair of hiking boots given their salary. Lucrecia usually had her reasons for things though, so Vincent had played along and spent what he would have on boots on gas instead.

He studied his wife's face in the late afternoon sun. She was different from that time so long ago when his father had introduced them to each other. Perhaps it was the family propensity for secrecy rubbing off on her, but she had become far more crafty in all she did. It was something he liked about her though, her ability to strategize and plan ahead, to make pleasant surprises in a world filled with so many bad ones.

"Oh, how well she's grown," Lucrecia murmured to him, her gaze remaining with the two children as they dug through the back seat. "To think that she was at death's door three years ago."

"Gast is doing a good job of keeping her out of the Agency's hands so far. You don't suppose he can make it remain that way, do you?"

"Aerith deserves a normal life," she replied, smiling to herself. "Besides, he doesn't have to do it on his own. That's why we're helping him, right?"

He smirked. "I could've sworn there was something in the Bureau's handbook about keeping secrets from the company."

"Now, dear…"

"I know, I know," he chuckled, turning his own eyes to their returning companions as they made the trek up the hill. "The Bureau may hold my living, but never my life."

"Good, don't forget then," she placed her soft hand on his, "when Gast cannot find time for his daughter, we're going to need to help look after her."

"And what about Ifalna?"

Ifalna, Gast Faremis' wife, was a stay at home mother who loved her work. There were times, such as now, that she would go off on her own to attend to an errand or prepare for an upcoming event; but for the most part she devoted her time to her only daughter.

"She needs help every now and then," Lucrecia assured him. "You didn't think we got to have Aerith for the afternoon just because she's fond of you, did you?

"Neither of us have much time off either," he pointed out. "Not to rain on your parade, of course."

She rolled her eyes, "I know that. It's just—"

"We're back!" Aerith announced, triumphantly holding the promised bounty above her head.

He observed the front cover intently. "Il Principe del Regno Della Pasta," he pronounced. It had a nice ring to it, as if it belonged with the classic collection of fairy tales. "You're certain this isn't an Italian folk story?"

"Yes! Papa says Signore Marco wrote it. Do you know Signore Marco?"

"Not really, he's part of Section Two. Section One doesn't tend to see them much." There was no need to explain the idiotic animosities between the divisions of the Public Security Bureau. Complicating Aerith's innocent world was not high up on his priority list.

"Not even you and Auntie?"

Vincent and Lucrecia shared a tired smile. "Yeah… not really. Maybe we should ask them to change the rules," he suggested half-heartedly. If only such simple solutions were possible…

"You should ask them to let you have more breaks, too!" the ten year old continued on, her excitement almost manifesting in leaps before settling for a steady bounce. "I wish you, and Auntie, and papa could all be with me for a whole week!"

"So what would we do if we had a whole week?" Lucrecia queried. "You know, just as long as we're planning it all out."

Aerith paused, thinking it over for a moment. "I think we should all go somewhere nice. Then mama can wear one of her pretty dresses and Auntie can borrow one too. And Zio will drive us in his cool car, and we'll eat good food and listen to classical music."

So that was why Lucrecia had asked him to bring the car…

"You like classical music?"

She nodded. "Opera, specifically. There's something full and wonderful about how they sing with their whole being. Someday, I want to go to a live performance of The Dream Oath."

"The Dream Oath?" Vincent echoed, trying to hide the amusement in his voice. "You do realize that isn't actually a classical work, right?"

"…It's not?"

The falling look on her face made him immediately regret informing her on the matter.

"But it sounds like one," Lucrecia offered, shooting Vincent one of her, _I've got this, so hands off,_ looks. "Even though it was composed in nineteen ninety four, it mimicked the original style quite masterfully."

"Like my book?"

"Sort of." She took the book and turned it over in her hands. It was an excellent binding job, from what Vincent could tell. Gast probably had it specially made just for Aerith. "Every now and then something is created that becomes much older in our minds than it actually is."

"I feel older than I actually am…" Aerith sighed, slumping over to lean on Vincent's shoulder. "Maybe it's because of the magitek?"

"Maybe 'cause you're my older sister." Sephiroth suggested purposefully.

Vincent ruffled his son's hair and smiled. "Yes, that's probably it."

"Aerith will always be a part of the family, no matter what, right?" The youngest member of their party continued on.

Aerith grinned down at the boy, "Yep. No matter what."

}§{

_La Stella Spettatore_ was a higher end restaurant deep in the heart of Rome. With bookings two months in advance and plates running close to €100, one had to have a lot of money, patience, and connections to get in. It was well worth the effort though, so long as one was going with the right company. Then again, Vincent reflected, that could be said for many establishments of much lower standard.

He looked into the troubled eyes of the twelve year old girl across the table who felt so distant these days. Maybe, he pondered, he wasn't the right company for the occasion.

"Aerith?"

"…Yes, Zio?" Her hesitant answer was predictable, but no less unsettling for it.

"Did I choose the wrong location for the evening?"

She blushed, nearly matching the hue of the pink dress she was wearing. "No, Zio. I just… I wish things were different."

As if it weren't already obvious that something was on her mind… He'd have to try another angle.

"Was your linguini not to your liking?" he chose another feint. It was important that she bring up the heart of the matter on her own terms but that didn't mean he was going to act as if it wasn't there. Though, there was not much he _could _do besides setting the scene for listening. She needed to know he wanted to hear her.

"It was very good, thank you," she assured him firmly. "I just have a lot to think about."

"Maybe you need some fresh air," he suggested, standing and offering her a hand. "It was a pretty heavy dinner, after all, no?"

"Yes, Zio," she complied. She couldn't hide from his experienced eyes that it was more to please him than out of necessity. Of course, that was one of the things that comforted Vincent about her; in his world of clandestine operations and backstabbing cutthroat politics, he would always know this little girl who he would understand and trust.

_La Stella Spettatore_ had an outer balcony that overlooked the sprawling cityscape of modern day Rome. Despite its name meaning star spectator, the vast majority of the lights visible from the vantage point belonged to the metropolis rather than the heavens. To Vincent, it had been a great disappointment on his first time there with Lucrecia, but at least there remained the slight consolation of twin fountains in the archaic style flanked by Cyprus trees. A little something of the old and natural to break up the modern spectacle was just the thing to cater to his interests.

The pair came to the edge of one of these arrangements and sat down on a stone bench more often used for confessions of love than catching one's breath. After all, _La Stella Spettatore _had a large reputation for romantic potential that Vincent totally overlooked. For him, he just wanted somewhere nice to take Aerith.

Besides, it wasn't like he was intruding on anyone else's use of the facility. Tonight, the balcony was vacant save for the presence of him and Aerith. Considering it was early spring at the time, this was semi-understandable. Most patrons preferred to declare affection at a comfortable temperature. That hadn't deterred him from proposing to his wife in the dead of winter. In retrospect, waiting for a moment like tonight might have been a better idea.

"It's a beautiful night, huh Zio?"

"…I suppose so."

"You miss Lucrecia?"

She phrased it like a question, but they both knew it was more akin to a statement. He shifted his eyes to the side as he smiled ruefully to himself. Aerith had grown rather perceptive in the last few years.

"Yes, this place holds some special memories for us."

The moment seemed to hang in the light saturated air as they took in the cool breeze and watched the endless stream of activity in the city beneath them.

"Vincent?"

"Mmm?"

"I'm glad you're my Zio."

"And why is that?"

"When I'm around you, I'm not afraid to talk."

Bull's-eye. "Is there something you _want_ to talk about?"

"Why is papa always so busy?"

"…" So it was about professor Gast. He would have guessed it to be something about school, or politics, or maybe even himself. The subject of her father was a difficult one for him to approach.

"I mean, he comes home every now and then, but he never seems to want to talk these days."

"Your papa has a very difficult job," he said slowly, choosing his words with the utmost care. "He… He has a lot to think about because the Agency is saying that…" Was she really ready for something like that? Knowing that the Agency was getting ready to shut down the magitek division of its Research and Development Department? He wouldn't put it past her to understand the repercussions this would have. "…that he needs to work harder." That was a nice, vague way of summing it up.

Aerith heaved a sigh, dropping her gaze from the sky to the marble paved balcony. "I wish he didn't need to."

"So do I. But sometimes things can't be as we want them to." Smooth. There was definitely a reason he had gone into the shooting business rather than counseling.

"I know… but I still wish we could be together more. Papa always seems so sad and… I don't know if it's my fault or not."

What a baffling conclusion. "Why would it be your fault?"

"Because when mama and papa talk when they think I'm asleep, it's always about me."

Stunned into silence, he concluded that the best course of action would be to change the subject. "…Aerith?"

"Yes, Zio?"

"Do you remember around two years ago, when you told us you wanted to go to the opera?"

"Yes," she sighed again, "and we still haven't gone."

"What was that opera about, again?"

"It was about two countries who are at war," she began, sitting up a little straighter as she recited the story. "In the country to the west, there's a princess who is in love with the hero of the west. One day, she hears he died and that the war is lost. The prince of the east tries to marry her, but she refuses.

"At that point, the most famous piece of the opera, _Aria di Mezzo Carattere_, is performed. The princess mourns the loss of her past love, and promises not to forget him. But in the end, she realizes that she has to move forward, because if her love remains in the past she will never meet him in the future. She has to change, even if she holds on to everything she lost."

He felt his eyebrows raise. Even if it was Aerith, it was still impressive that she could comprehend the tale on that level. "So what happens next?"

"I… I don't know," she admitted. "I wanted to see the rest in person."

"A night at the opera, huh?" Like most occasions, he reflected, she would need the right company to make it the experience she was looking for.

}§{

"Look, you've got to spend _some_ time with her," Vincent stated to his colleague, leaning over on the man's desk in the waning hours of the evening. "A twelve year old girl like that needs a good male figure in her life."

Professor Gast grunted in reply and remained poised over stacks of paperwork, "I thought that was what you did these days."

"You're her father, that's not something I can replace."

"So you want me to take time off when the company is recovering from Dr. Marquis leaving and take her to the opera?" Gast's tone was icy. Vincent couldn't blame him, the stress of having to fill in for a superior who suddenly went M.I.A. was probably killer.

That didn't change how he felt about the situation. "Yes, that's exactly what I want, Doctor."

"I appreciate your concern for _my_ family, Vincent," the doctor told him sardonically, not bothering to look him in the eye. "But we'll be fine. Right now, the company needs me."

"Look…" Vincent sighed. "Section One could stand one night without me. I'll fill in for you helping Lucrecia recover the lost documents."

"Thank you, but—"

"You'd rather spend the night cooped up in an office?"

"…No."

He smiled, not something he often did at work. "So then the answer is obvious."

"Are you certain you know what you're getting into?"

"You've got to have a steep learning curve to join the Public Security Bureau," he reminded his associate. "I think I can handle it. Besides, I've got Lucrecia just in case I get lost, right?"

"If you're wrong…"

"Then you can scold me after having the night of your life," Vincent assured him. "For now, just go and enjoy what you've got. The opera shows in one week; make it happen, Doctor."

"Just one question, Vincent."

"Yes, Doctor?"

"Why aren't you fighting to come along?"

"Somebody's gotta do the dirty work," he shrugged. "Besides, after Marquis' escape the Agency has been doubting the efficacy of anyone connected to magitek as watch dogs. I was purposefully excluded from the roster of escorts that will accompany you."

"Escorts…" murmured Gast, leaning back in his chair and stroking his soul patch. "I presume that they are not just for my safety."

Vincent nodded. "Correct, they want to make sure you're not up to anything fishy. They let their guard down with Marquis and are determined not to make the same mistake twice. Section One volunteered four of its members for the task; almost like they expect to get some dirt on Section Two out of it. So please, Doctor," he grinned, "remain on your best behavior."

"Sounds like you've already set things up too far for me to back out now," Gast muttered, rubbing his left temple. The man had become increasingly kinesthetic in the absence of Dr. Marquis. From what Vincent could tell, he would need this vacation.

"Exactly right, so don't get cold feet. You know how much we'd hate to disappoint director Draghi."

One week and a day later, he wished he could take back every word.

}§{

**~Author's Note:~**  
Originally, Vincent and Lucrecia were both going to be called Uncle and Aunt in Italian, but Zio and Zia are too similar and I can't seem to find any affectionate alternatives while using google translate. Hense, Lucrecia is simply Auntie. Sorry for the lack of continuity.

Hopefully the flashbacks were not too disorienting. I apologize if Aerith's summary of The Dream Oath is unsatisfactory, it is by no means an all-inclusive interpretation. Also, I do hope that this chapter does not suffer from Fairy Dusting, i.e. characters and circumstances altered beyond believability just so something nice can happen.

-CG


	8. Aria di Mezzo Carattere Part 3

**Dual Trigger**

-By Chronic Guardian-

**Chapter 8: Aria di Mezzo Carattere Part 3**

It was three in the morning and Vincent was on his tenth cup of coffee as he deciphered notes and recreated documents that might give them some clue to the fast cooling trail of Cid Marquis. Frankly, he would have given up six cups ago if he hadn't promised Professor Gast that he'd have a good chunk of it done by daybreak. It didn't help any that Lucrecia had forgotten crucial supplementary materials at home and had now left him alone to go retrieve them.

"Gaining any respect for Section Two yet?" Alphonso, one of the support members of Section Two who had also been assigned to information recovery for the time being, brought another file to the dimly lit desk he was working at.

Vincent grunted, realigning the documents Alphonso had accidentally moved with the delivery. "It's so revolutionary, I think I'll transfer over," he told the man drily. It wasn't like it was anything new, there was plenty of investigative paper work to be done in Section One. Sometimes Vincent had to wonder as to why the two branches were kept separate. There were obvious reasons, of course, but at this hour such things became much easier to ignore.

He frowned. Speaking of obvious reasons… "Why don't you just get your mechanical youth to deal with these sorts of things? Most of them _are_ performing above average in their studies, right?"

"It's… a bit of complicated situation," the Section Two agent ran his hand through his blond hair, obviously stalling for words. That he bothered to answer truthfully at all had Vincent wondering if the late hour was affecting his judgment. "We'll just say that there are a few odd unwritten ethics about the use of cyborgs and the standing fact that all of the girls are either out on a mission or catching up on sleep to be ready for the next one. They say their workload has really spiked lately, there's almost talk of getting a new fratello.

"At any rate, the most you'll see of any of them will probably be ol' Marco Toni and Angelica who are actually scheduled to arrive back on base pretty soon this evening."

"Morning," Vincent corrected him. No matter how badly he wished it was before midnight, the silver watch on his left wrist told him otherwise. "And thank you for being a little more open than the usual rules allow."

Alphonso shrugged as he routed through his own paperwork. "I figure you've already got Dr. Crescent as a source if you _really _wanted to dig up some dirt on us. Since you haven't by this point, I suppose you're fairly safe."

Vincent gave him a blank stare as the words processed, nodding when he understood it as a compliment. "…Thanks."

Bringing his focus back to the papers he had been studying before the interruption, he took another swig of the dark brown liquid that had been granting ersatz consciousness for the past two hours. Closing his eyes, he savored the unabashed bitter flavor of the draught and reminded himself for the umpteenth time exactly why he was doing this.

He nearly choked on it when the phone on the desk broke his reverie. Forcefully placing his cup down, he answered the phone as flatly as possible; politeness just wasn't an option at this point. "You've reached the desk of Gast Faremis, current occupant speaking. How may I help you?"

"Yes, I'm trying to reach Mr. Vincent Valentine?" a feminine voice replied.

His eyebrows lowered dramatically, who would know that he was over at the Section 2 office at Gast's desk? Obviously, it wasn't someone who had fortuitously stumbled through whatever phone tree relieved the secretary at night.

Checking the caller ID and recognizing the number as Gast's cell, his brows rose to their original position. The voice was too high to be the professor himself, and just a tad too low for Aerith. That left either one of the escorts or…

"Ifalna?" he half-guessed, this time in a normal tone. It did sound like her now that he thought about it.

"Oh, Vincent? Sorry, I didn't recognize you."

He grimaced. Probably because he never used that voice with her. "Don't worry about it," he said, bordering on a mutter. "How was the opera?"

"Wonderful! Thank you. Gast hasn't enjoyed himself like that in far too long."

"And Aerith?" The true objective, of course.

"You couldn't find a happier child in all of Italy," she assured him warmly. "She's asleep at the moment but—"

The exchange was interrupted by the punctuated introduction of an explosive bang.

"… Ifalna?"

The line went dead.

He was up and heading towards the parking lot within half a second. Redialing in a situation like this was what lost lives, every moment counted and he needed to be there _now_.

Apparently, Alphonso was awake enough to process what was going on. "Valentine? What's the rush?" the man asked, coming up from behind.

"Something's wrong with Gast," Vincent answered curtly. "I'm going to investigate." What else was there to say? In fact, he could have left that last part off and be all the more unhindered for it. In his experience, informing people usually meant involving them. Right now, he didn't need any more stray liabilities involved.

Alphonso nodded, taking the news in stride. "Right then, I'll see what I can do about getting us some back up. Wait for me in the parking lot."

Vincent grunted. _Fat chance of that happening_.

Upon arrival, he went straight to the spot where he usually parked when visiting Lucrecia. It was only then that he remembered he had ridden in with his wife on this particular occasion in the interest of saving petrol.

And that she had left in the car ten minutes ago to retrieve notes she had forgotten at home.

That didn't have to stop him. Scanning the other parked vehicles, he began weighing the option of "borrowing" one for the occasion. Due to his experiences in Section 1, he knew how to hotwire a car fairly quickly. The question was, would he be fast enough to get away before the commotion became more trouble than it was worth. Although there was never a good time for tangling with Section 2, now would be a particularly poor choice.

He had just decided on a blue Mercedes when Alphonso reappeared with one of Section 2's fabled fratello in tow. Judging by the dark lines under their eyes and grimly determined expressions, he would conjecture that the pair had been up for roughly the same amount of time as he had.

"Good to see your patience held," Alphonso greeted him, shifting through a ring of keys. "Say hello to Marco Toni and Angelica. They'll be assisting us with tonight's excursion."

Vincent reluctantly left behind his plan B and followed the man to another car in the lot. "Is Section Two always so open about loaning out their trump cards?"

"You _did_ say something about one of _our_ doctor's being in trouble, didn't you?" Alphonso replied coolly, unlocking his vehicle. "Now get in and tell me where we're headed."

Taking the front seat of the car, Vincent informed the driver of his projected interception coordinates. The Opera had been a late night showing at the Theatre Pergelosi in Jesi. Additionally, they were taking a few country back roads on the way home in order to throw off the trail of anybody who got too curious. If all the variables added up, the two car convoy would be on the near side of Narni at this point; which was still a good hour out of Rome if one obeyed the speed limits. Thankfully, Alphonso knew how to blur that line.

Taking advantage of the city lights before they passed into the countryside, Vincent then turned his attention to readying his weapon. The gun, a Bren Ten Marksman Special, had been a gift from his father. While the model had experienced a markedly limited run before its manufacturer went broke, it was hailed by some as the best of its decade. Valentine senior, an avid collector and retrofitter, had ensured that his son came into possession of a working specimen. It was a rare and powerful treasure that had served him well through the years, hopefully tonight would be no exception.

After making all the necessary checks, Vincent indulged himself with a look in the rear view mirror at the two that Alphonso had insisted on bringing along. Mr. Toni, an ash blond man with a strong square build, wore corrective eyeglasses and a brown long sleeve button up over a white t-shirt with khaki pants. It was a far more casual style than Vincent was used to seeing on fratello agents, but he took it as a good sign. With any luck, it meant that Toni wouldn't pay as much attention to the invisible boundary line between the two sections of the Public Safety Bureau.

The girl who sat beside him, Angelica if Vincent remembered correctly, was dressed in equally simple attire. She couldn't have been older than twelve, more likely on the shy side of eleven. A ribbon hairband held back the majority of her long, straight, dark brown hair with box-cut bangs framing her pale, adolescent face. In her hands was an Austrian Steyr AUG A2 assault rifle. Somehow he had missed that during their encounter in the parking lot. Letting his gaze drift back to her face, he froze just as they entered the lightless countryside and her visage vanished from the mirror.

The last image burned in his mind. Her eyes were… empty. They weren't just like the bored stare of a child on a long car ride or the lethargic glaze of someone who had gone too long without sleep, they were empty. They were the eyes of a future withered before it had ever bloomed. No matter how he fought against the notion, he couldn't help imagining Aerith with those same eyes.

There were a number of rumors going around Section One as to what exactly the cyborg program did; he could see well enough now how most of them started. What in the world could be worth doing this to these girls?

"You know… it's natural to have that reaction," Alphonso gave him a sidelong look as he easily navigating the early morning traffic. The driver must have glimpsed his expression by the light of a passing car. "Just remember that her life could be a lot worse without the operation; if she'd have one at all by this point."

Vincent felt like giving the agent an incredulous frown, but the lighting conditions would make it a moot gesture. He settled for a low grunt and returned his attention to the darkness beyond their headlights.

"Don't worry, Signore, I won't let you down," the cyborg spoke up from the backseat. Her voice sounded as a normal eleven-year-old's should, if nothing else.

"Leave him alone, Angelica," Toni sighed, his tone slightly colored by the frustration that often accompanied exhaustion. "I don't think he wants—"

It was only then that he made the connection that she had been addressing him.

"Thank you, Angelica, but hopefully we won't need your help."

Toni fell silent. In the mirror, Vincent could just make out enough of the vague lines composing the man's face to be certain he wasn't floundering for a retort. Most people didn't take well to being interrupted like that, apparently the man was either too tired to fight or just more laid back than Vincent had hoped. He smiled, _either one is fine by me_.

His smile vanished as oncoming traffic illuminated the backseat for two seconds, revealing Toni's discontented expression and Angelica's shocked, almost broken, one.

"What?" he grunted, trying to shake it off.

"It's… a little complicated," Alphonso told him. "Ask me about it later."

"Why not now?"

A minute nod towards the backseat told him all he needed to know as to why not. He grimaced, something that obvious wasn't excusable even under his current fatigue. Maybe Alphonso had been right to bring back up… going alone would've come with vivid risk factors.

He was still mulling this over when a smoldering wreck came into view on the small country back road they were utilizing.

He was about to curse their luck for the delay when he realized how close they were to the projected interception point.

_No… Please, no. _It was too fast, too simple. She _couldn't_ have died just like that. He gripped the armrest with one hand and his pistol with the other as Alphonso slowed to a stop.

Strangely, of the three vehicles lined up it was only the leading car that was emitting smoke and the last bouts of a fire. Vincent noted with some relief that it hadn't been one of theirs. The scene beyond, however, wasn't fortunate enough to share in this status.

Angelica and Toni went on ahead, sweeping the area for left over hostiles. _Too late for that. _Whoever had laid the trap was long gone by now. Slowly approaching in the waxing moon light, he assessed the situation.

The bodies were mostly outside of the cars. One exception, the Section One escort who had been driving the rear most vehicle, sat frozen with his mouth wide open forming a voiceless shout and a hole between his eyes. It was difficult to tell if he had been reacting to the car in front of him bursting into flames or the assault that had ended his life. Whichever, he'd had enough time to stop the vehicle before it had rear ended into Gast's. His compatriots were strewn across the road, either shot fleeing the scene on foot or dragged out of the cars post mortum. Judging by the way they were sprawled and the lack of pooled blood, the latter scenario was more likely; especially since the interiors of the cars would be the immediate choice for cover.

It wasn't anything new though; Section One was no stranger to scenes of slaughter. Kneeling down over one of the corpses for a better look, he was reminded of why this time was different.

His breath caught as he recognized Ifalna's face. In addition to two bullet wounds, a series of gashes had been added to her left arm and torso. Her right arm was stretched out towards the middle car. The knot that had been forming in his stomach began to constrict.

The doors were all open, but the battery had gone dead or the interior light had been forcibly extinguished. Aerith's body wasn't among those outside. Either she had been removed from the premises or she was inside the car. His hopeful side pleaded to let well enough alone, to let Marco and Angelica check, and to keep believing she was still alive somewhere being held for ransom. His professional side, however, demanded he see the truth for himself. He had arranged for Gast to make this trip, it was his duty to deal with the consequences. Following Ifalna's reach, he forced his legs to approach the darkened tomb.

"Vin…cent?" The voice was barely above a croak. Even then, he recognized it.

He stopped dead in his tracks. "Aerith?" His mind was playing tricks on him. It had to be.

"Zio…"

No, it was real. He could just barely see her there, alone on the backseat with arms outstretched as if for an embrace.

He was at her side in the next instant, brushing away the hair that was plastered to her face by dried sweat. "Aerith, we're going to get you out of here and—"

Alphonso came up behind him with a flashlight, illuminating the situation.

Stilettos pinned her elbows to the upholstery. Miraculously, the blood around the blades had clotted early and prevented excessive loss. He needed to get them out of her. However, he had enough presence of mind to not do so immediately. Once the knives were out, he would need to stem the flow of blood. He would have used his shirt, but work earlier that day had left it with generous amounts of gun powder residue which he would _not_ want to be getting into her blood stream.

She was looking at him blearily through her right eye, her left eye was bruised shut.

"You'll be alright," he said softly, mostly just for the sake of saying something. He wasn't usually in the habit of doing so, but right now there was not much else he could do.

"An…" she choked. Whetting her throat, she tried again. "And Papa?"

"He's—I… I don't know." What could he say? What was he supposed to say? Lie? Say that Gast was alright? The doctor hadn't been identified as one of the dead yet. It was almost plausible except the sinking feeling that his absence meant his decided fate was worse.

Gathering his wits, Vincent checked under the passenger seat and was rewarded with the typically placed first aid kit. Pulling out a roll of bandage, he placed his hand on one of the knives and froze. This was Aerith, the little girl who called him Zio, who liked her pasta with marinara rather than alfredo sauce, who diligently watched over her mother's garden. Almost as if in refusal of the situation as a whole, his limbs ceased to function.

He remained silent and motionless until the medical team arrived; Alphonso had probably ordered them as additional back up before setting out. By then Aerith had slipped into unconsciousness, retreating away from the scene of the murder into the remote solace of her mind.

As Vincent watched them take her away, he wished he could do the same.

}§{

"…Tendons at the elbows have been severed, there's not much we can do for that. Also, the left eye sustained damage to the retina and will require correction. Furthermore, the event has predictably left her in a state of shock and disorientation. Although she may eventually recover, I cannot say when that will be, or to what extent. Much of the brain matter is intact, with minimal damage to the left frontal lobe. Should she surmount the emotional trauma, there are good chances of— should we take a break Mr. Valentine?"

"Hmm?" He started, breaking out of his trancelike stare at the anatomy charts in the doctor's office. After comprehending the posed question, he nodded. "Yes, thank you doctor."

"Mr. Valentine, I cannot help but think that you, as Miss Faremis' legal guardian, ought to be paying more attention to our discussions," the doctor went on testily. "However, it is understandable that this is having profound effects on your psyche as well. Go get some fresh air so we can continue unhampered."

"Unhampered…" Vincent repeated softly, trying to think of a single factor limiting the conversation more than the doctor's insensitively dry demeanor. Sure, Vincent's insomnia was probably playing some part; but the man spoke like a college text book written by a science major who had skipped out on language arts the second it was an option. "I'll do my best, doctor."

Leaving the room before his exhausted mind let his tongue slip, his thoughts continued to center around the girl in the intensive care unit who still hadn't woken up after four days. Apparently, Gast had written up a will that left Aerith in the keeping of the Valentines should anything happen to him and Ifalna. Most of the employees of the Public Safety Bureau kept similar documents; they were all prepared to die someday. Vincent wouldn't have expected it from Gast though, somebody so far from the action shouldn't have needed to think about such things. _Even if it helps us now_, he admitted with a small twist of his mouth. It seemed a fitting enough punishment that Vincent be responsible for the girl after setting in motion the events that ruined her life.

Finding an open window to stare out, he leaned on the sill and watched Rome in early autumn. News of the Faremis incident was trivial to the public due to the doctor's lack of prominence coupled with the Agency's hesitance to reveal his exploits. To them, it was the same as any other obituary; maybe even less. Even among the scientific community he'd lost his following when he left the scene for clandestine government projects.

It wasn't fair.

Of course, life wasn't fair. That was why there were groups like Padania out there that threw tantrums and hurt other people. If life was fair, there would be no need for the Public Safety Bureau altogether.

"Mr. Valentine?"

He turned just enough to see the speaker approaching down the hallway. Turning a little further, he struggled to identify the man.

"Mr… Toni, right?" he greeted the handler, returning his gaze to the city outside. "What can I help you with?"

"The Agency sent us over to offer their condolences."

"'Us'?" Vincent spun around, missing the indicated companion until he remembered the height of Toni's partner. Really, he should have expected the man to bring Angelica when the pair _was_ called a fratello.

He frowned. Why had Section Two sent over a fratello instead of a normal agent? If Alphonso had been right, the workload for the cyborg teams should've been far too oppressive to spare one just for messenger duty.

Unless, of course, they were on standby due to performance issues. Currently, Vincent could sympathize.

"We also have news from Director Lorenzo," Toni continued on, unfazed by Vincent's misstep; or maybe he just expected it coming from a Section One agent. "Gast has been located."

The last four words carried a heavy tone, rather indicative of the outcome. Vincent braced himself for the worst. "Do I want to know what happened?"

"Let's just leave it at this: they found his body with a message. It said that this was only the beginning."

Vincent slumped back against the window sill. There went his fragile hopes that the doctor had somehow survived.

"Padania's really going on the offensive, aren't they?"

Toni shook his head. "That's just it: Padania didn't do it."

_What?_ Too shocked to actually verbalize his confusion, Vincent simply fixed Toni with his intense gaze. The man returned the look, unchanged.

"The FRF never deals in bio weaponry, part of their strange code of honor coupled with the risk to their reputation if anyone ever found out they were producing the stuff. Do you remember the scene four days ago?"

Vincent grunted and put a hand to his forehead. "How could I not?"

"So you remember that despite numerous wounds, there was a minimal amount of blood to be found on the corpses?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Enlighten me, Signore."

"It's still being analyzed in the lab, but we found a foreign agent on each one of the bodies present, including Aerith." Toni readjusted his glasses as he informed Vincent of the new development. "Although it became inert before we arrived at the scene, there's a theory that it's a 'clean up' agent used to ensure there aren't any loose ends left living.

"If the theory is correct, this chemical dehydrates the blood stream. Somehow, it only worked on Aerith's superficial wounds, fortuitously preventing blood loss. As for everyone else though—"

"I see." Vincent assured his compatriot quickly. Really, enough had been said. He'd almost rather be back in the small room with the doctor at this point.

"Speaking of Aerith, how is she?"

The change in subject was abrupt, and almost equally uncomfortable. "There's not much hope for a normal recovery," he replied slowly. It was difficult to force the words out that he so vehemently wished to deny, but it would do Aerith more harm than good if he were to delude himself. "If I'm understanding them correctly, anyway," he added after a moment. The extra statement gave him just enough padding to keep believing what he wanted.

"You know, the Agency can help her."

Vincent almost laughed; his mood caught it in time to subdue it to an annunciated grunt. It would be a deal with the devil to turn Aerith in to the Social Welfare Agency. "You're sure 'help' is the right word?" he asked lightly, a false smile playing at his lips. "Maybe 'use' is a little more appropriate. I know what you do."

"…"

Vincent's gaze dropped as he remembered for the second time that Mr. Toni was being accompanied by his cyborg. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, not meeting the man's unflinching stare. "That was… careless of me to say."

"Signore?" The girl spoke up. She almost looked normal without her Austrian battle rifle. Her eyes still bothered him, but they weren't quite as hollow today.

"Angelica," Toni began wearily, "this isn't the time for—"

"What is it?" Vincent interrupted, looking down at the girl with a scrutinizing gaze.

She froze, conflicted between the wishes of her handler and Vincent's own intimidating aura.

"I... I may be just a tool to grownups," she began again after Toni nodded his consent. Hesitance, perhaps fear of retribution, colored her voice. She probably would've been shaking were it not for her mostly mechanical body. "But… because I can help Signore Marco, I don't have to be alone. I think Aerith… I think she needs somebody right now, like how I need Signore Marco. Don't you think?"

She stared up at him with flickering resolution. Still, even if she was uncertain in her delivery she cared enough to stumble her way through the thought. That was what was different, her eyes held purpose; that was why they weren't so empty now.

Still, he wasn't about to give in just because the girl gave a heartfelt speech about it. He shook his head, _girl? She's a cyborg. I'm thinking about her as if she were any other kid off the street, not a government assassin. For all I know, this is rehearsed. _Despite his own misgivings, it was difficult to mistake her words for anything but sincere.

"I'm still not convinced that is what's best for her," he said, trying to sound a little gentler. It wasn't a tone his coarse voice was well suited for, but he would still try. "But thank you for presenting the option. I'll let you know if I change my mind."

"We won't hold our breath on that one," Toni assured him, turning to go. "Take good care of her."

"…I'll try."

}§{

"You're sure about this?" Chief Draghi, a man Vincent could only describe as consummately polygonal in appearance, demanded of his subordinate. Like most employers Vincent had served, he was not enthused with the request for dismissal.

"Absolutely, Chief. Why, is there a company policy against transfers?"

"Vincent, you go in there and there's no coming out. The only records of retired Section Two agents are dead ones."

"I know, sir; I have a responsibility to keep."

"You could just sign her over. She's a pretty little specimen, I'm sure they'll find some handler for her soon enough."

Considering Chief Draghi's opinion of handlers and their ability to properly care for children, the statement was hardly reassuring. Although Vincent didn't necessarily believe him, it still spurred on the original conviction.

"I can't leave her in just _some_ handler's care, I need to make sure she'll be well looked after."

"If she's becoming a cyborg then it's already too late for that."

"Given her recent lapse in condition, I don't think I've got an option."

"Fine…" Draghi sighed, steepling his fingers in front of him. "So if she goes then you go too, no exceptions. Is that it?"

"I need to save her, sir."

The chief looked blankly at him for a moment before laughing mirthlessly, "I didn't think you, of all people, would ever quit for such idealistic reasoning. You're not saving her, you're keeping what's left alive so that it can shoot terrorists without threat to anyone who _matters._" By the last word, Draghi's tone was practically seething with contempt. His eyes no longer met Vincent's, they were staring off at whatever distance held his imagining of the Social Welfare Agency. "I'm not going to choose for you, Valentine. But do me a favor and don't delude yourself into thinking this is a magical clean slate for you and Gast's little girl. I'd hate to see someone as capable as you fall for that fairytale."

"Who said it was a clean slate?" Vincent asked, mildly curious as to where the idea had come from. "I was just going to help her pay them back."

"Brave words," Draghi said, letting his eyes settle back on Vincent, "but it's obvious you need a new beginning just as much as she does. You were too close to the Faremis family, now you're paying the price for ignoring our warnings."

"You don't think a change of scenery will be enough?" It was a lame attempt to brush off Draghi's well-based assessment. A lot was going to have to change before things were new again.

"Vincent… let me be frank with you. The way I see it, you need to do what you need to do for the Faremis girl and then get out of this business. You've been a great agent, but you let your guard down around one thing and it broke you. Unless you can let go of your sentiments surrounding the Faremis incident, which I understand is impossible with their girl still around, you won't recover back to your true potential. So either give it up or let it drag you down and know that the day you break down it's on your head and not ours."

"Then I'll see how many we can take down before that happens."

The chief gave him a measuring look. "…Then I've one final assignment for you."

"Dig up dirt on Section Two?" Vincent guessed, beating his superior to the punch. Decidedly poor etiquette, but he was on his way out anyway. "Sorry, but that doesn't fit into the agenda. As you seem to well know, my days are numbered before it all goes up in smoke; I can't be wasting my time on someone else's crusade."

"You never were much for our cause," Draghi noted, turning in his chair to look out his window, the same window that Vincent had passed underneath for five years without ever looking up. "But we knew you couldn't be paid off; that's one of the reasons we kept you around. Whatever motivates you, you'd better hope to high heaven it doesn't run dry. I can safely assure you Section Two won't have nearly as generous a severance package as us."

"I don't plan on quitting, sir," Vincent said flatly. "Aerith's condition will be irreversible. I'm planning on being there for her to the end."

"Then there's nothing left to discuss. Have your desk cleaned by this evening."

"…Thank you, sir."

}§{

"That should about do it," the Section Two agent, Ferro, finished with the entry paperwork. "Congratulations, Mr. Valentine, and welcome to Section Two. We'll have your cyborg ready to begin training by the end of the week."

"Hang on," Vincent held up a hand in askance of patience. "Don't I get to name her?"

"…Traditionally, yes. We just assumed that since you have a past connection you wouldn't want any more alterations than necessary to her established identity in your mind."

It was a fair answer. If they'd been listening in on his conversation with Director Draghi somehow it would also make perfect sense. Since he hadn't been completely open with his former employer, however, the truth of the matter didn't add up the same.

"So what would you like to name her, sir?" Ferro had smoothly flipped back to the appropriate form and was poised for his demanded input.

"Aria." The name quickly left his lips, as if to be certain he didn't turn back on his decision halfway through. He'd almost left her to remain Aerith, but that didn't feel quite right. She was going to be something different now. The past was part of her, but there was no returning to those days of innocence. Now, she had to embrace the future.

"Unclaimed," she confirmed, writing it down deftly.

"No questions?"

"No; though Doctor Bianchi may read into it."

"Good." He liked this woman's clipped, professional style of conversation. Section Two, though secretive, was not prying. There was an air of mutual mystery surrounding the members of the Social Welfare Agency, an air that Vincent counted as calming. They were willing to forget the past. They had to be when they were turning against social convention and making assassin's out of little girls.

_But I'll remember_, he promised solemnly in the privacy of his mind. _I won't forget until you too are gone. _There would be many things he would forget, he wouldn't pretend to deny this much, but he would always and forevermore remember the girl named Aerith and the song she wished to experience. She could never be all of Aerith again, but with time there was a faint hope that Aria would inherit just a small bit of who she had been.

If only half way, her song would be the same.

}§{

~Author's Note:~

And thus the titular background arc for this volume is complete. There are many out there who handle backgrounds much better, such as Taerkitty and Thescarredman (both of whom I would recommend to any reader of the GSG following), but given that lighthearted me is the author I think that it turned out fairly well. For every one of the seventy three views this story has thusfar achieved, I say thank you. You come and go silently, but your support is still appreciated. There are two more chapters and a "secret episode" planned before this starter volume finishes off, and I do hope that you will stick around for that. May we finish the beginning of this adventure together!

-CG


	9. Perso nella Tempesta

**Dual Trigger**

-By Chronic Guardian-

**Chapter 9: Perso nella Tempesta**

_Who gets chosen to be a fratello? I am aware that human resources would rephrase this statement to who _chooses _to be a fratello, but I think there are larger things at work. Those who apply usually do not apply on a whim; those who do are unsuited for the task._

_At any rate, the long and short of it is this: it is only those who can no longer pursue their goal by normal means that join the cyborg program of the Social Welfare Agency. They've all lost something, and all stand to lose much more by their participation. They think they have nothing left, but they all bring their humanity with them. Even the cyborgs, though greatly hampered, retain bits and pieces of what they used to be. _

_Of course, a ship recovered from a storm is not the same ship once repaired. Some pieces were forever lost at sea and some of the new hull work may not fit in, and even though the ship is made whole again it is not the same ship that it once was._

_-Personal journal of Cid Marquis Del Norte, 2003_

}§{

It was a small apartment. One bed, a dresser, a desk, a bookcase, a "hope chest" filled with live ammunition, and a coat rack took up most of the space while a bathroom and kitchenette occupied the rest. On top of the dresser was an alarm clock that she looked at before she fell asleep, directly after waking up, and often in between the two. The interval between sleeping and waking had been growing increasingly slim these days.

It was around twenty-two hundred hours when the knock came at her door. She had been expecting as much, the mission couldn't wait any longer than was strictly necessary for travel and sleep. Rousing herself from the small desk that had been her companion for many an odd task, she loaded a magazine into her rare Lercker machine pistol just in case it wasn't the company she was expecting. After all, things hadn't exactly been peaceful in this neck of Tuscany lately.

"Come on in," she called out to the unidentified guests as she carefully aimed her gun at the portal of entry. Her voice was lower than most women, and slightly rough in quality besides. It didn't make for the most inviting voice, but it kept the rabble away. She liked it that way, it made people take her seriously.

The door opened by just a crack. "Lightning, I presume?" a male speaker asked, apparently informed enough to not come barreling into the room. If he had tried that, he would've had a collection of ten or so .25 ACP cartridges added to his chest and face.

"Lightning flashes bright then fades away," she answered, moving on to the second part of the identity check. Most called her paranoid, which was a fine description of her mindset. When living as an undercover agent in the government's service it was hard not to be.

"It cannot protect, only destroy."

She sighed and lowered her weapon. "Good to see you take your job seriously. What can I do for you?"

This time the door opened fully and admitted a blond man in a tan trench coat with a dark brown suit underneath. "Jean Croce," he introduced himself, holstering a FN GP35 as he entered; apparently also a believer in precautions. "I understand you were assisting one of our fratello in the area until recently."

"Sure, if you could call it that much," she muttered, ejecting the magazine from her pistol to avoid misfire. Given the design, it was the only certain way to pacify the Lercker. "The Lauro-Elsa team met with me for information three times over the course of the campaign. I never saw Lauro in person, he always sent his cyborg to pick up the requested files and conducted the rest over the phone. He was supposed to check in after their last mission with a body count so I could confirm the whole nest had been eliminated but… well, I'm sure you've already looked over the report. Long story short? They vanished."

Jean approached her desk, giving her maps a cursory glance before meeting her scrutinizing gaze once more. "Have you returned to the scene since then?"

"Would you go in there alone after a fratello disappeared without a word?" she countered, placing her head in her hands as she returned to studying the possible sites Lauro and Elsa could have been spirited away to. "I only got close enough to confirm they weren't among the dead before I was detected."

"Detected?"

She nodded. "Three of them, I think. I wasn't expecting an investigation so soon, given the cash blindfold of the police in the area. Anyway, they opened fire and I was gone. It took the rest of the day to shake them and by then I got the hint that looking in on the matter before you got here wasn't such a great idea."

"You seem like you could handle three men on your own."

"Look," she said, frustrated with Jean's evaluation. "For all I know, they took down a _fratello_." The emphasis had little effect on the man's expression. Equally undaunted, she continued, "if you didn't have your little pet at your side, would you want to try taking three people of that caliber on your own?"

"If they were Padania? Absolutely."

"…You're as crazy as they say," she told him bluntly, tracing a few intercepts with a green pencil. By now, she found it more profitable to continue studying her maps. It would help if she could narrow down whether or not Lauro and his cyborg had been captured or just gone underground. The latter was unlikely, given her multiple attempted calls without reply, but still plausible. If only she could get a better look at the crime scene…

"Where's the other guy?" she asked, looking over her shoulder back at Jean.

"Pardon?"

"They said they were sending two of you fratelli. Where's the other Handler?"

"He's with the cyborgs, arranging for our rooms. How soon can we investigate?"

She put her hands in the air, denying the responsibility. "You tell me. I'd suggest holding off until morning so we can at least have daylight on our side, but with the cyborgs handy that might not be an issue."

"…"

"What's the matter? Having second thoughts?"

"Reload your gun." His voice had dropped lower than its natural timbre.

"What?"

"Reload your gun and look out the window."

Doing as she was told, she reinserted the clip into her Lercker and got out of her chair as she turned to face her apartment's lone window. Through the curtains there was a large silhouette and two glowing green dots peering back at her. Night vision…

The figure clinging to the outside of the window shifted, prompting a salvo from the Lercker. The green lights that she assumed were its eyes gradually shifted up as it fell backwards to the alley three stories below without so much as a grunt.

"We need to get to the others," she stated, hastily rolling up her maps and tucking them into a satchel. It was an obvious move, but she wasn't too sure about Jean's knack for self-preservation after his whole "I'd commit suicide to kill terrorists" thing.

After grabbing a few spare clips, she was just about to grab a knee length beige coat and head out the door when the ground beneath her jumped. Instinctively moving with the force of impact, she went into a roll and collided with the wall before realizing what had happened.

She blinked. Her ears were ringing badly but she was all in one piece. A once over didn't reveal any shrapnel lodged in her skin, always a good sign in these incidents, and her limbs were gradually regaining feeling after the initial adrenaline burst. Turning her eyes upward, she noticed Jean was standing over her.

"On your feet." He offered a hand, apparently unaffected by the blast.

Taking his forearm, she pulled herself to a standing position and looked over the remains of what had been the far wall of the apartment a few seconds ago. Rubble covered her desk, and most of her other belongings for that matter. There weren't any open flames, owing, she suspected, both to the nature of the explosive and the material of the building.

She grunted. "Somebody doesn't know how to run an assassination."

"Or they weren't trying to kill us," Jean noted, heading out the door.

She grabbed her coat and limped after him, struggling to regain her natural gait. It was now apparent that she'd landed on her leg wrong, limiting her mobility for the time being.

"And what makes you think that?" Digging into her coat pockets, she grasped a spare preloaded clip. If the bomber hadn't been working alone, they were going to need it. How had he gotten so close undetected? They began heading down the stairs.

"If it were an assassination mission, he would have fired from the apartment across the way. The same goes for observation. He must have been there to plant the bomb."

"You're sure it was his bomb? Most people I know would be making tracks if they knew they were sitting on an explosive that was about to blow."

"Was there someone else on your window earlier today? I would hope that an agent of the Public Safety Bureau would notice such an intrusion."

She fell silent. It could have happened while she was out investigating but that would mean that someone had tracked down her apartment before the whole chase took place. It seemed that any option contrary to Jean's deduction would point to further sloppiness on her part.

"… Alright, so what did he come for?"

"To send a message," Jean answered simply, stepping off the staircase and heading for the exit. "They obviously know at least part of who we are and don't want us looking into what's going on around here."

"So we go on the offensive."

"Right," he confirmed, holding the door open for her as they entered the back alley. "We hit hard and fast before they expect us to recuperate."

"…Meaning we investigate tonight."

"Exaclty."

She shook her head. What was Public Saftey thinking? "I did tell you you're crazy, right?"

"And I inferred I don't care," he countered calmly. Taking his phone out of his pocket, he punched in a few buttons and held the device to his ear. After a moment of waiting, he spoke again. "Rico, get the others and meet me at the secondary point… Yes, now." Ending the call, he turned his attention back to her. "I'd suggest we get moving. The sooner we meet up with the others, the better."

"Just a couple more questions," she told him firmly, approaching the spot beneath her window. There lay a bomb suit riddled with holes and no identifying marks other than a small horseshoe on the right collar. "First: why didn't you shoot the bomber yourself?"

"Because I wanted to test you." His tone indicated it was supremely obvious.

She muttered an unrefined opinion of such antics before moving on to the next question. "Second: the bomber took ten rounds to his body and fell four stories, correct?"

He nodded slowly as he comprehended the reason for her disquiet.

She kicked the now evidently empty blast suit that lay before them. "Then where's the body?"

}§{

To most people, the task of separating one stranger from another without at least a small amount of concentration was difficult, to say the least. Most people hadn't spent the first eleven years of their life in a hospital bed surrounded by staff who all wore identical medical scrubs. For Rico, it was a game she had developed as she became more cognizant of her limited abilities. She'd started with simple features, like body composition and facial shape, and moved her way along from there; trying to guess who it was who had come to administer the daily doses. Around age six, she started committing the symbols on their badges to memory; something that came in handy now that she could read. By the time she was eleven, she could immediately identify any member of the hospital staff that passed by her room and had become aware that she had outlived the stay of at least thirteen of them since she was eight.

When the magitek movement happened, this skill had become one of her anchor points.

Vincent Valentine and his cyborg were easy to remember. She'd seen Vincent at least twice in passing before he'd transferred over to Section Two, both times in the parking lot. Unfamiliar faces at the SWA campus were an interesting challenge that she indulged in. Given his consummately formal dress, considerable height and slim, angular features, he'd been a little difficult to distinguish from Signore Hilshire, but that granted all the more a sense of accomplishment at separating the two.

Aria was more interesting though; Rico had only seen pictures of the girl when Signore Jean was talking with the magitek doctor, the one who had later been killed. It was funny, meeting someone she'd only seen in still frames; very different from meeting someone she'd only heard about. When she was told about someone (or rather, heard about them) she formed a fuzzy mental picture to match the entity. This was the opposite: she saw a perfectly clear picture and had instead been left to guess what the girl was like. One thing was for certain, Aria wasn't as sad as she had been in the pictures. She'd been smiling, but there was a little bit of that look in her eyes that Rico associated with the sad people who left the hospital staff. The ones who "couldn't take the prolonged circumstances" as she had heard other staff members refer to them.

As she now stared back at Aria in the hotel lobby, she thought about how the two of them had been helped by the cybernetics program. When Rico told people that running was one of her favorite things to do and they gave her odd looks, she could only suppose that they had never felt what it was like to not be able to run. She had been made whole. Apparently, Aria's sadness had been taken away too.

Vincent, on the other hand, seemed like he had become more somber. It was a shame, the Social Welfare Agency was awfully short on smiles.

The phone in her pocket vibrated gently. Repressing her instinctive reach for the CZ-75 concealed in her coat at the unexpected stimulus, she turned away from Aria and answered the call.

"Sir?" Signore Jean and Director Lorenzo were the only ones who knew her number, it was safe to address either of them as "Sir". It was extra safe to phrase it as a duty-ready response since the only subjects they ever called for were to issue instructions or retrieve reports.

"Rico," Jean's perpetually terse voice answered back, "get the others and meet me at the secondary point."

She peered back at Vincent, who was just being handed the room key. "Right now?"

"Yes, now."

He hung up. Whether he was in a hurry or just not in the mood for questions, she couldn't tell. Especially since both were equally prevalent in his demeanor.

Placing the phone back in her pocket, she approached Vincent and Aria. "Jean wants to meet at the second site now," she informed them in a measured tone. Even if she had observed Vincent for a while, she didn't know how he would react to such things. That, and it went without saying that respecting a handler in his cyborg's presence was always the best course of action.

The look he gave her could have been mistaken for angry. Most people with dark, swooping eyebrows looked like that though. "Is that so?" he asked in a neutral tone.

She nodded. "Yes."

Vincent paused for a moment before turning around and passing the key back over the counter and muttering an apology to the attendant.

"Guess we should get going then, huh?" He said, giving her an expectant look.

She cocked her head to one side. "Yes?" It was both a confirmation and a question as to what he wanted out of her this time.

"Jean didn't tell me where the second site was. Care to lead the way?"

"…Oh!" It clicked in place that Signore Jean didn't trust Vincent all the way yet; she knew better than to ask why. Sometimes she got the feeling he didn't trust her all the way either. "Sure, but what about our luggage?"

"They'll handle it," he gestured to a bellhop who picked up her suitcase before heading towards the elevators. "Jean said now, right?"

_But my Dragunov… _

She shook off the thought and tried to smile, "…Right, let's go."

As they left the building, she could do little more than take a long look over her shoulder and hope that her beloved rifle was being handled with care.

}§{

"Time?"

"Ten forty-five," Lightning reported. It was a fair guess, considering the last time she'd looked at her phone it had been ten forty-two. Still, Jean would probably prefer the exact measure.

That was part of why she'd given an estimate.

"Any thoughts on where the bomber went?"

"He must have had back up," she answered in plain monotone. "They carried him off the scene."

He shook his head, not buying into the thought. "The suit was still in one piece. They wouldn't have reassembled it just for appearance sake. Besides… there wasn't any blood."

"Well then I guess Siena just became the latest capital for impossible disappearing acts," she growled, "because we aren't getting any closer to the bottom of either of these."

"Is that going to be a problem?"

It was as close to a blatant challenge as he could come while remaining fully professional.

"Gee, I don't know. Usually impossible tasks come pretty easy to me." Sarcasm wasn't a tone she took with her superiors (not on issues that mattered, at any rate) but due to the vague lines of hierarchy concerning the fratelli of Section Two she felt justified in treating Jean as a peer.

"Not thinking about quitting, are you?"

Every sentence out of his mouth was a question. She didn't like it: the one who asked the questions directed the conversation. Either he was just in the habit of being in control or there was something he was trying to keep her attention off of. Anyone else would consider the second option to be absolutely ludicrous, they were both agents of Section Two supposedly working towards a common goal; but in her experience, paranoia could save one's life.

"And why would I do that?" she asked, looking down the alleyway for signs of the other fratello's arrival. Having Mr. Croce as her sole companion was quickly becoming more than just an annoyance.

"You never know when someone's conviction will break down," he told her. Somehow he managed to sound irritated and impassive at the same time. "Just because you _should _be able to trust someone doesn't mean you can."

"…Seems we finally agree on something." This was going to be a long investigation, and not just because they were short on leads.

Jean didn't say anything else after that, but it didn't make his company any more palatable. When the other fratello finally did show up, she was actually happy to get things underway.

_The sooner we get out of this the better._

}§{

**~Author's Note:~**

Perso Nella Tempesta: Lost in the Storm

Also, the last bit of the volume is stretching into two, perhaps three chapters and the side episodes are being considered for their own collection. Sorry for the fallacy.  
-CG


	10. Vivente Part 1

**Dual Trigger**

-By Chronic Guardian-

**Chapter 10: Vivente Part 1**

_The Public Safety Bureau has placed my capture or silence as a priority. I'll probably have to leave the country for a while, I plan to depart upon the coming of Christmas, but there are a few things I would like to set up first._

_The Lost Children, a group of orphans acting as fugitives from the state with anonymous aid from various individuals, have formed around myself and the young man who aided me in my escape from the SWA. Although I would leave them primarily in his capable hands, I must first ensure that he can continue to operate in my absence._

_It's funny, how I go from helping one group of child soldiers to another. Of course, the Lost Children is mainly of the fourteen to seventeen age range, whereas the SWA employed any girl old enough to act rationally and survive the treatment. "The younger the better", as the doctors used to tell me._

_There is something similar between the two groups though; in each I sense an intense desire to live. There are exceptions, of course, but without this quality many of the cyborgs would have died long before the operation as would many of these children. It was the same desire Wol had when I first met him, a name which he states stands for "Warrior of Light". What in blazes he means by it is beyond me, but it does recall a former idealism I once held. Perhaps he is better off keeping such thoughts then. Without even a distant dream to strive for, living quickly becomes a burden._

_-Personal journal of Cid Marquis del Norte, 2004_

}§{

The half burned candle flickered on top of the crate it had claimed as a resting place. From his prone position on the cot, Seifer watched it while he waited for his senses to return in full. There was a dull, throbbing ache in his temples and his limbs felt numb, but he could at least turn his head to watch the candle.

It wasn't like there was anything else to look at in the room.

He'd been through this before though, recovery from the poison dubbed "Ignus" by the Lost Children. It messed with your head, attacked your nerve control, and eventually left you in paralysis if it went untreated. Thankfully, Haze had come up with an antidote fairly quickly. Though, not quickly enough for the first casualty, a girl named Vanille; they had to turn her over to the hospitals. One or two of their contacts would visit her now and then, but other than that, the girl had lived out two months before going comatose. Now all the Lost Children carried the antidote with them everywhere.

The second bio-weapon they had encountered while tracking the Omega Faction, "Osman", was more straight forward in its attack: it dehydrated the victim's body by making the blood insoluble. This didn't mean that blood was the only thing in danger though; Penelo, another former member of the Lost Children, had lost her eyesight to the stuff. Although Haze did his best to reverse the condition, Penelo eventually requested to be entered in a hospital as well. They had quickly lost contact with her; nobody was interested in the same heartbreak twice.

Seifer was lucky he hadn't been first. If he had been the premier case in either situation, he probably would have committed suicide by now. Of course, there was no proof that Vanille and Penelo hadn't, but in situations like this tunnel vision became a necessity.

A loud gasp broke his ruminations and jerked his attention towards the doorway.

"Seifer! You're awake!" Maqui, a boy of about fourteen with a fluffy blond mess of coarse hair and an excitable disposition, rushed to the side of Seifer's cot. "Man am I glad you're alive! You had us worried!"

Seifer groaned back a response, worked his mouth a little, and tried again. "You… didn't want… come," he replied in a broken statement. Usually he spoke in complete sentences, but this particular circumstance seemed to permit the employment of verbal shorthand.

"Of course not!" the younger boy confirmed, incredulous of the thought. "Open combat? I'd only be dragging you down."

"…Chickenwuss."

"Whatever," Maqui shook his head, checking Seifer's pulse before placing a hand on the boy's forehead. "They got you good, man. It's gonna leave a nice scar up your face."

"Great…" Seifer muttered. A facial scar; now he'd be that much easier to recognize in public. That effectively reduced his prospects of doing recon work.

"At least you made it out alive, right? Fuu and Rai just barely dragged Wol back to the safe house before some people started showing up. One of his pistols got broken in his jacket so he got pricked with some of his tranq darts."

Ouch. Still, there were more important things to keep in mind. "Did we get her?"

Maqui gave him a puzzled look. "Get who?"

"The girl." The whole reason they'd been on the mission in the first place.

"No," Maqui shook his head while walking over towards the lone crate in the room and picking up the candle so he could move the lid. "They didn't have the time. Once the others showed up, Fuu and Rai couldn't afford to start a fight because they had you and Wol to protect."

Seifer used a word he'd often heard back when he ran errands for gangsters. So much for earning Haze's trust and respect… "Where'd she go?"

"Couldn't tell you," Maqui replied ruefully, bringing out some fresh bandages and a water bottle. "Yesterday morning after things quieted down, Celes and Bartz scoured the scene and couldn't find anything conclusive."

"Wonderful." Seifer let his gaze move on towards the bare ceiling. So now they were set back even further. "What's Haze want with a cyborg anyway?"

Maqui shrugged, coming back to the side of the cot. "It's all guesswork but… I think he wants it for research."

"Why would he need to research cyborgs?"

The younger boy began undoing the wrappings that covered Siefer's forehead. Seifer winced, but held still as the pressure change sharpened his headache. "Maybe he doesn't know how they work as well as he thought," Maqui offered. "You see… Wol is encountering some problems."

Maqui's image blurred slightly in Seifer's eyes. He was probably dehydrated after sleeping through all of yesterday. "What kind of problems?"

"Well, he got hit two days ago, right?"

Seifer sighed. Maqui hated saying things directly. "Get to the point."

"He isn't healing."

}§{

Today was the fourth day of the investigation. "December twentieth," Aria pronounced to herself. "Five days left."

"Five days till what?" Signore Vincent sipped his drink conservatively while watching the street out the window of the café. It was nice to have a midday meeting where they got to sit down, but the weather was not encouraging the fast consumption of cold beverages.

"Christmas." Aria looked down at her small reflection in the glass of clear liquid in front of her. Signore Vincent had insisted on just water for her. "How can you forget something like that?"

"Crimes that need investigating don't check the calendar for availability," Lightning, the Section Two Agent who had met up with them for the mission, muttered to herself as she continued studying her maps. Two pencils, red and green, clenched in her right hand, currently pressed to the side of her head, were seeing service in tracing lines on the charts every now and then. "We're not just dealing with the old-style Padania or Camorra goons anymore. Sure, those two might wait just out of tradition and whatever honor they think they have; but the Omega Faction doesn't seem to play by those rules."

"But _we_ still get it off, right?" she asked hopefully, looking over at Jean and Rico across the table.

Jean remained silent. He hadn't touched his drink. Instead, he sat with arms crossed, intently looking over Lightning's work through his shades. Or at least, Aria assumed that was what he was doing, he could just as easily be sleeping. Despite the fact that they were indoors, the man hadn't seen fit to remove the glasses. Aria was beginning to suspect that he wore them simply for effect, although it could be that it helped to conceal his identity from the growing list of the SWA's enemies.

Rico opened her mouth, looked up at her handler, and closed it. It varied between the girls, but as a general rule none of them would dare contradict their handler. Not in their presence anyway.

"…We'll see," Vincent told her, still looking out the window. He paused a beat before adding, "If we can get this mission out of the way before then."

Lightning grunted. "If we don't find anything within the week, the trail will become too stale and it'll be a moot point. The hospitals of the area are all on the lookout for incoming patients that match Lauro and Elsa's descriptions, just in case somebody else finds them before we do. Once that happens though, there's no telling what can of worms will open up. Frankly, I'd hope that we either find something now or never if I were you. "

"Thank you, Signorina Lightning." Aria said, watching as the woman drew another "X" with the red pencil, apparently signifying a dead end. Incidentally, Aria also noted that the red pencil had become much shorter than its green counterpart over the last few days.

"What about… here?" Lightning, ignoring the comment, switched pencils and circled a location on the rim of town.

Jean lifted his chin ever so slightly. "What about it?"

"It's a long shot, but there's a chance that—"

Her pocket gave an aggressive buzz. Rolling her eyes in exasperation at the interruption, she removed the vibrating cell phone and answered in an unexpectedly tranquil tone. "Felicia Verdot, who is this?"

Aria tilted her head to the side for a moment before recognizing the name as the one Lightning had used when calling the hospitals. It was likely to be an alias, a concept Signore Vincent had carefully explained to her early on in her training, but there was always the chance that this one part of Lightning was true. After all, "Lightning" seemed more of an obvious fake name than "Felicia".

Whatever her name was, the woman shifted to the side of her seat as she marked down an address and gave curt affirmations to the speaker on her phone before ending the call and giving what could pass for a small smile. "I guess the leads chose now over never," she informed the rest of the table. "Someone matching Lauro's description has just been admitted into Azienda Ospedaliera Senese."

}§{

Rico didn't wait with bated breath on the walk over to the hospital. After a brief detour to a flower shop for a consolatory bouquet, she'd taken up a position behind Signore Jean and Signorina Lightning and occupied herself with watching the passersby for signs of an ambush. She hadn't seen a hospital for a while now. When Jean went with a newly enrolled handler to check on candidates, she didn't come with him. Although half of the reason for this was to avoid alarming the men (Rico had been told that cyborgs took some getting used to), the other half was that she didn't really like hospitals after spending eleven years in one. But Jean wanted her close as back up, so this time she went.

Too bad Vincent and Aria couldn't do it. Signore Jean had ordered them to go and check the other site Signorina Lightning had been talking about before the call. "_Let's not get our hopes up, we still need to have alternatives ready in case it's another fake,"_ he had told his companions. In any circumstance, particularly Rico's training, Jean was never satisfied with "good enough".

Shifting her eyes to the second person in front of her, Rico examined the rosy, strawberry blonde locks of Signorina Lightning with a thoughtful stare. Signorina Lightning didn't seem to like Signore Jean very much, but he regarded her as useful; useful enough to bring along anyway. Or, like with most other people, he just didn't trust her far enough to let her check on her own.

"You know what Lauro looks like, right?" the woman asked Signore Jean. There was just a hint of lurking suspicion in her voice.

"Of course."

"Then why are you bringing me along when I never even met the guy?"

"Because if this is a look alike, you have the confidential details of his mission that we can use to verify his identity."

"And if Vincent and Aria run into trouble?"

"They're together right?"

Lightning almost paused in her step. "What's that got to do with it?"

"When you told me about Lauro's plan for raiding the safe house, you made it clear that he sent Elsa in alone," Signore Jean explained. "This was probably what made the disruption possible: the separate factors that should have been acting as one. Divide and conquer _is _among the most basic military strategies. So long as Vincent and Aria stick together, they'll be alright."

Rico gave a quizzical look to the back of her handler's head. Apparently his faith in Vincent and Aria's performance had been restored. Either that, or he didn't want all the elements in one place. If that was the case though, she wondered why they weren't taking the usual set up; with her watching through the scope of her Dragunov one rooftop over.

"Rico."

She snapped to attention. "Yes, sir?"

"Stay sharp. If this turns out to be a trap I want you at your best. Keep as many of them alive as possible."

"My, aren't you merciful," Lightning noted in a dry voice. Rico couldn't tell if it was a sincere statement or a sarcastic acknowledgement of what exactly they did with survivors

"On that note, try not to use your Lercker," Jean continued, now addressing the woman. "How's your hand-to-hand, skill?"

She grunted an acknowledgement. "I'll manage."

Rico smiled. That was good; if there was a fight, they'd all be able to hold their own. She didn't mind protecting people, but it was nice to be able to go on the offensive without worrying about shielding someone.

Getting into Ospedaliera Senese was not difficult. With the cover story Signorina Lightning had in place before hand, they were quickly and warmly received. "Family of the salesman from Rome?" The receptionist at the front desk asked, offering a small smile. "Was he visiting you here in Siena?"

"We were meeting in the city, yes," Jean explained, using a subdued alternative of the pleasant voice that he only used with strangers. "Thank you for notifying us so quickly, we were so concerned when he disappeared."

"He fell into some… difficult circumstances. You might not want to bring your daughter into the room."

Jean shared a glance with Rico over his shoulder, was that how Signorina Lightning had set it up? Usually they went as brother and sister, but she could pass for his daughter in a pinch.

Of course, that would leave Signorina Lightning as her mother.

Rico blushed up at the agent, who simply looked ahead at the receptionist.

"Thanks, for the suggestion," Lighting replied, just barely smoothing her voice from its natural roughness. "Anything else we should know?"

The receptionist shook her head, the shadow of a frown flickering across her face. She suspected something…

"Thank you again," Jean said, giving a nod and leading the group down the hall towards an elevator. He was jumping into the situation with both feet. If a trap lay ahead of them, he would be hitting it full force, without reservation. Rico often heard Jose talk about it as Jean's definitive strength and weakness; his ability to move decisively with acceptance, rather than ignorance, of the consequences.

They rode up in silence. Whether it was the hospital or a third party, there was always the possibility that the chamber was bugged. From the moment they had entered the building to the moment they left, they were to maintain their charade.

It was too bad, Rico would have liked to talk about the receptionist as soon as possible.

"If Marianna can't go in, we'll need to take turns visiting," Jean noted out loud as they stepped off onto their floor, referring to Rico with a common alias. "I'll go first. He needs to see a familiar face, have something to go off of to identify us by."

"Okay then…" Signorina Lightning, try as she might, could just barely break free of her strict, business-like demeanor. "Great, you set the stage. Just… don't push him too hard. He may be your brother, but we don't know what's happened yet."

Rico felt a small frown forming. She could tell that Signore Jean had been trying to speak in code, but it didn't seem that Signorina Lightning had quite caught on. That, or she just didn't know how to answer in equally meaningful code. Either way, Rico didn't get the significance of the woman's response.

They stopped outside of the room. As discussed earlier, Jean was admitted first alone while Lightning and Rico waited in the hall. It was nearly unbearable. Of course, she preferred standing in one place to lying down, but the position had little to do with the memories that were resurfacing. Once again, she could only watch and wonder what others were doing while she silently waited for outside forces to resolve.

She felt Lightning's hand fall on her shoulder. Looking up at the woman's impassive expression, she wondered if it was a stabilizing gesture, or just part of the "family" act. Rico hadn't run into many people who went out of their way to pretend to be nice to her; but, as Signore Jean would probably point out, that didn't mean they didn't exist.

If nothing else, it was nice to feel the contact. Signorina Lightning had a firm grip like Jean, but felt just a little less tense. Whenever he grabbed Rico, there was just a bit more stiffness in the movement. It was difficult to describe, and even more difficult to believe in relation to Signore Jean, but Rico would almost say that there was something fragile about it. Not about Signore Jean himself, of course; he could only be described as strong, almost invincible. It was just that sometimes, whenever they came in contact, she felt as if he were rushing so he wouldn't feel.

She could understand that well enough. But for her, feeling was a blessing. To feel muscles that contracted when she wanted them to, to feel a breeze not generated by a machine and pushed through a pipe, even to feel the burn of lead as it entered her skin, it was all better than laying in that hospital bed waiting for the prick of a needle that she could barely feel through the haze of the medications.

Rico looked up at Lightning and smiled. _You should stay with us, _she thought, not daring to say the words out loud. Such a statement would probably blow their cover.

The door to the hospital room opened shortly, allowing Signore Jean out. He gestured to Lightning to replace him in the room before murmuring, "He seems to be alright. If it's safe, we should see about getting him back to Rome. If you need me, I'll be waiting here."

Rico translated the statement in her head. _He looks like the one we're looking for. Confirm and see about getting him transferred back to the main office. If trouble comes, we're here to back you up._

"Right," Signorina Lightning nodded curtly and entered, leaving Rico with Jean.

The two of them stood there for a moment, neither saying a word, both staring straight ahead at the door.

"Is cousin with him?" Rico asked, looking up at her handler. She figured if Lauro was her uncle in this scenario, that would be the proper way to refer to Elsa.

Jean shifted in place.

Rico held in a gasp, blinked rapidly instead, and went back to watching the door. Was he actually… uncomfortable? _No_, she dismissed the thought, _probably just annoyed with me_. Usually it went without saying that she wasn't allowed to initiate conversation.

Before too long, Lightning emerged from the room wearing her natural discontented expression. "Come on, let's get going," she inclined her head towards the elevator as she started off in that direction, not waiting for Jean and Rico to follow her. Apparently, she was also in a hurry to leave this place behind.

Fortunately, Signore Jean agreed with the sentiment and was quickly in step with the woman. Rico, once again, took up the rear.

The walk out was just as quiet as the walk in. The instant they stepped onto the streets though, Jean lead them towards one of the many backstreets of the city and gave Lightning a nod. The woman removed her cell phone from her pocket and dialed as Jean and Rico watched the streets.

"Valentine," she greeted the recipient. "The hospital lead was sufficient. We've located Lauro and arranged for transport back to headquarters."

"_And Elsa_?" Vincent's voice came back faintly. Well… Rico supposed that it was the level most people referred to as faint. Due to her cybernetically enhanced hearing, she could make the words out just fine from her position a few feet away.

Lightning sighed, looking away from Rico. "…Dead. Lauro says he found her with her gun in her hands and a bullet wound through her right eye the day after they got separated. He suspects she was ambushed or committed suicide."

"_Why didn't he notify us?" _

"His phone was stolen, same goes for his car. By day two, he got mugged in a bad part of town. He was found earlier today and was subsequently admitted into the hospital. That's what he told us, anyway."

"_What about her body?_"

"Gone. We'll be looking into the local morgues shortly but there's a chance she was snagged by the Padania."

"_So it's over then?_"

"Right, once Lauro's retrieved, you're home free."

"_Great, Valentine out._"

Signorina Lightning removed the phone from her ear, dialed again, and began reporting the situation to headquarters.

Rico looked on out of the backstreet to where the midday sun shone. The low December angle combined with some framing clouds gave it a waning look. _I wonder if it will be that bright for Christmas?_ She thought idly to herself. _Too bad Elsa won't see it_.

But Rico would enjoy it all the same. For her, to be alive was to be active. To die was simply to embrace the rest that waited afterwards. Someday, she too would die. But until that happened, she would just continue to appreciate being alive.

}§{

**~Author's Note:~**  
Vivente: Alive, Living


	11. Epilogue: Ascolto per gli Echi

**Dual Trigger**

-By Chronic Guardian-

**Epilogue: Ascolto per gli Echi**

It was funny, Vincent reflected, that while in Section One he had done work similar to Section Two; that even on the investigative side of things he had been treated as a hunter at times. He'd sort of expected to be fully transferred into the killing business when he moved over, but right now it seemed like he was stuck investigating once again.

Other than Aerith, things hadn't really changed that much.

It felt like he was being placed on the sidelines, sent to look into the alternative site while Jean handled the main course of things; which Vincent was fine with if it meant he didn't have to spend the rest of the day around the acerbic handler. Sure, he still had to deal with Aria, but that wasn't _nearly_ as bad.

Upon arriving at the location, they discovered a poorly kept and unmanned antique store with a connecting office. Vincent had double checked the address before picking the lock and moving inside. There were signs of recent use, stark against the dust accumulated on the rest of the merchandise. Making certain to follow in the footsteps and only touch that which had been touched by the last visitors, Vincent and Aria had commenced what quickly became apparent as a dead end investigation. Up until the call from Lightning, they killed the time as best they could looking for possible clues to whatever the Section Two agent had seen in the place.

"Look, Signore," Aria called to him from across the room just as he got off the phone. Turning around, he identified the object of interest as a slip of paper covered in handwriting. _Cursive_ handwriting.

Vincent hated cursive. His loathing for it was only equaled by his inability to reproduce it legibly.

"Can you read it?" he asked tentatively. In addition to his general wish to avoid the writing style, Vincent also doubted his ability to comprehend it properly when he was preoccupied with the news of Elsa's demise. Besides, it gave Aria a chance to be useful. From what he understood, the cyborgs loved that.

"It seems to be a list," she reported, studying it as Vincent turned back to his previous work. "Mosin-Nagant, MG 30, Sten mark 'vee-eye'… what do you suppose it means?"

"Mark 'six'," he corrected her, "roman numerals. Those are all firearms from the World War II era." His father's collection held at least one of each model throughout their production history. Still, it wasn't much to go off of other than the fact that whoever was inhabiting this place had a thing for out of date guns. "…Anything else?"

"They all look like gun models."

Vincent nodded; whatever the list was for, it wasn't to keep track of the broken music boxes and dusty lamps in the front room. "Is that it?"

"A lot of 'x's and 'o's next to the names," she told him, sounding a little disappointed that it wasn't something easily decipherable.

That was fine, he had a few ideas of his own as to what it could mean. "Are the 'x's on their own or do they go through the 'o's?"

"Through," she confirmed.

"How many 'o's are left open?"

"Two next to Sten, one next to MG, another down by 'Bren'. All the others are filled out."

He nodded, putting together the pieces in his mind. It sounded like an inventory. It was probably a small, amateur operation, seeing as they were careless enough to leave the list lying around without any guards posted, but the small office was an unassuming front to begin with. Adding this to the recently lax investigations in the area, it seemed plausible that a small time operator had opened up shop. Selling antiquated weapons seemed a waste of effort though.

At any rate, the site didn't seem to be connected with the de Sica case.

"Aria, let's go." There wasn't much point in sticking around. The most difficult part of the investigation would probably be leaving out excessive commentary on the futility of the event.

"But, Signore," she protested, peering over the desk she'd found the paper at, "what about this?"

She brought out a small, olive green scarf smudged with something dark that he didn't recognize.

He narrowed his eyes as he calculated the significance. The other articles around the store had been relatively clean. Dusty, but clean. It was too small to be worn properly by an adult; it looked tailored for a child. Finally, its position behind the desk, hardly a proper storage area, spoke of carelessness on _someone's_ part. Unless it belonged to the store manager's kid, Vincent didn't see a reason for the original owner to be back in the office throwing the thing around.

"Take it," he decided after a moment more of contemplation. The original owner had seemed careless enough that the article wouldn't be terribly missed. Besides, if the gift he had planned for Aria fell through then he could claim this was his magnanimous gesture of the Christmas season; which was about as close as he got to giving gifts most of the time.

He made certain the door was locked behind them before walking down the scantly populated streets with Aria at his side. It was partially cloudy outside; a nice day for strolling and losing oneself without trying too hard. Under normal circumstances, anyway. Right now, Vincent was still wondering if all cyborgs committed suicide when separated from their handler on the field. He'd heard about how Claes, the "orphaned" girl, had gone into shock when they'd informed her of her handler's demise; he'd just assumed _that_ would be the normal response across the board.

"Who was Elsa?"

The question came nearly out of the blue. Blinking once before glancing down at Aria, he pulled his thoughts together before answering, "just another cyborg."

"I never met her."

He sighed, where was she going with this? "…And?"

"I don't know," she said, looking straight ahead down the cobblestone streets. "I just assumed that none of the other girls would die so soon."

Vincent felt within a centimeter of just going silent and ending the odd conversation there, but decided against it in favor of allowing Aria to articulate her thoughts. "What do you mean 'so soon'?" he asked reluctantly.

"I guess I thought that we couldn't lose," Aria explained. "I mean… I _feel_ like I can't lose. Not when I'm with you, anyway.

"Everyone dies sometime, you told me that already. I just… I didn't think you meant the cyborgs when you said that."

"Who did you think I meant?"

"The other girl."

He frowned. "What other girl?"

"The one I am when I'm dreaming. I think her name is Aerith."

Vincent didn't continue the conversation after that.

}§{

Jean Croce could rarely be described as a happy man. Most of the time, rather than assuming the elusive occasion of felicity, his associates preferred to gauge him by his degree of discontent.

At that particular moment, the degree was fairly high. Jean didn't like wild goose chases; but he was a man of principle so when the Director told him to go, he went. He also didn't like taking time out to hunt something that wasn't linked to Padania. Again, his sense of duty had told him to do otherwise and just follow orders. However, he especially didn't like gambles that involved trusting loose ends to stay constant. On this matter he was only barely constrained by the Director's will.

The man in the hospital looked like Lauro, talked like Lauro, and knew just about everything Lauro should know. But Jean remained suspicious purely on the qualification that there was a leak _somewhere_ in the SWA and Lauro, an agent who often worked alone and kept his distance from the rest of the staff, had dropped off the radar in what could be either an exchange or a reconnection with his original loyalties. The Director saw some reasoning to this line of thought; but had decided that, if they did find Lauro again, they would keep him close and see if they couldn't follow the bread crumbs back to their source.

That Elsa had been removed from the equation only complicated things further. It could mean that she had either found out too much and become a liability or, if Lauro truly was playing for the other side, she'd been used for something incriminating and he needed to cover his tracks before Bianchi got a long overdue interview in and the girl let something slip. The easiest way to do it would just be to turn on her and shoot the girl himself. She would never see it coming.

It was too bad, they'd been an excellent fratello.

_But why… why would Lauro do it? Why would he turn on the Agency?_ Jean brooded over the question as he took an evening cigarette in his hotel room. He usually reserved the luxury for his off time, but he never drank while on a mission and he needed _something_ to calm down.

Terrorists as a whole were an unstable group. It could be hard to tell where they would strike, or when, but if you could find out "why" then there was often a pattern to their targets that became apparent.

In the case of the Omega Faction, the analytics of the SWA were still scratching their heads as to "why". Incidents like the non-fatal bomber on the first night of the mission only furthered the confusion. Getting close enough to say you _could_ do something without actually doing it was normally an intimidation technique, but that still left a broad range of questions as to what they were trying to prove, and why just killing Lightning wouldn't have been intimidating enough.

The odds were that if Section One ever got their hands on a copy of the mission's report, they'd be all too happy to point fingers and maybe even look into it if they could spare the personnel. Jean idly wondered if the Omega Faction would toy with them too.

_Or maybe just refuse to play entirely_. He took a long drag. Although he was under the impression that it was a suicide bomber anyway, it was possible that the shadowy organization would withdraw its fingers after getting nipped. Jean was fine with that, it would leave plenty of room for hunting down the Padania, not to mention extend both Jecht and Laguna's perceived contracts. Both had stated a limited interest in employment beyond the demise of the Omega Faction; something Laguna somehow perceived as "short term". Jean, however, was under the distinct impression that it would be a long and sporadic crusade before the group was brought to justice and there would be plenty of time to make the most of the new fratelli in between.

A light knock on the door caused him to shift his eyes in that direction, doing so only slightly faster than normal due to the stimulating qualities of the nicotine. His hand drifted to his chest holster before he invited the guest in.

"Just dropping by to check out," The Section Two agent, Lightning, stated from the other side. Apparently, she preferred to keep her distance.

"Your services have been adequate." He let his hand fall away from the gun. He'd be sure to give her a mildly positive review when he got back to HQ. "Is that all?"

"…" Nothing. Was she hoping for a warmer farewell? Not likely, considering she was hiding behind the door.

"Then, if you don't mind, I'd like to be—"

"Treat her right." The woman's already rough voice gained just a little more grit for the interruption.

Jean paused momentarily, marginally surprised by both her impertinence and her unforeseen interest, before answering, "Agency policy stipulates that a handler is to have full and final say in how his cyborg is treated."

_I don't need tips on how to do my job_. _I knew what it meant when I was signing up. Whatever it takes to bring them to justice, I'll do it._

"Don't buy that happy mask that she's putting on just because it makes things easier," Lightning persisted. "There's something, some_one_, underneath who's just as fragile as any other girl her age."

He shook his head, smiling grimly to himself, "You obviously don't know Rico very well." _She can be an idiot, but she's as sturdy as they come,_ he added silently.

"I was about to say the same thing to you," her voice was growing impatient. "Just… forget it. It's your neck on the line, not mine."

The smile faded with her footsteps as she retreated away from the door.

_She's an interesting one, _he thought, extinguishing his cigarette in an ash tray. _A bit soft, but interesting._

In a strange way, it almost reminded him of his brother. Well… if his brother had more of a backbone maybe. Jose Croce was a far gentler man than Jean, soft spoken and loathe to argue; he'd been the peacemaker of the family, the one who tried to patch everything up when it was about to fall apart.

Back in the days when there was a family to patch together.

Turning away from the thought, Jean made a note to have Lightning promoted and ensure he _never_ worked in the area again, if at all possible. After a moment more of thought, he also noted to give Rico Boxing Day off. They would probably have to work on Christmas, but he was planning on taking the next day off for personal reasons anyway. Jose saw it as strange, but Jean took it as a matter of course that the best gift he could afford his cyborg was time apart.

If people thought the side of him that he let show was disagreeable, they'd only just scratched the tip of the iceberg.

}§{

**~Author's Note:~**

Ascolto per gli Echi: Listening for the Echoes

So here we are: the end of Volume 1. The story doesn't finish here; this is only the beginning to a tale binding many aspects together, the fusion of two worlds whose beauty is so foreign to each other, yet so familiar. The main story is projected to reach _at least_ seven volumes. Added unto that is the Condizionata Complementere (Complimentary Conditioning), a number of expansion stories meant to establish the universe a little more. Please, join us for the next Volume, Dalla Polvere alla Polvere, as the fight continues and truths about the Omega Faction come to light.


End file.
